


Hurry My Loved One

by StellinaGatsby



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Lone Wanderer Has Abandonment Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellinaGatsby/pseuds/StellinaGatsby
Summary: A long and ongoing exploration of the relationship between Charon and the Lone Wanderer.At this point, Charon's personality is about 95% his PTSD.The Lone Wanderer has a savior complex and her own mess of issues.Somehow, they're good for each other.Strictly platonic.





	1. Death Doesn't Discriminate

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Kindness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11538825) by [TheRoarOfAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas). 



> I am basing a lot of Charon's backstory on what happened to him in The Kindness. (Head canons = accepted)  
> I would highly suggest reading it. It is fantastic.
> 
> My title is borrowed from a Swedish poem: https://www.moomin.com/en/blog/the-story-behind-autumn-song-by-tove-jansson/
> 
> Also, I'm including pop culture up to the present because the fact that everything just stopped in the 1950s makes no sense to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final scene of Fallout 3 (base game)

Sarah shot Autumn in the face. He staggered, but didn’t get a chance to shoot back before Sarah shot him again. He crumpled onto the floor. She had never thought of herself as a vengeful or resentful person, but she felt far more satisfaction having killed Autumn than she would like to admit.

She shot him in the face again, just for good measure. She turned to look at Charon, wondering if he had noticed her homage to him, but he was chasing one of Autumn’s guards out of the rotunda.

“Don’t you run away from me!” he bellowed.

The intercom crackled to live, a tinny voice echoing in the chamber. “Hello? Hello?... Is anyone there? It's Doctor Li. Something's wrong with the purifier... Please, someone answer!”

Sarah traded a glance with her name-fellow, who hit the intercom and answered, “Doctor Li? It's Sarah Lyons. I'm in the control room; we're both here. What's going on?”

“If you don't activate the purifier right now, you're all going to die! “

“Alright, this is it. Stay sharp, and we'll have this thing under control in no time. How do we activate the purifier?”

“You need to input the code. But when you activate it… the chamber will flood with radiation… whoever goes in there isn’t going to come out.”

“What’s the code?”

“I don’t know.”

Lyons face flashed with anger and fear. 

Sudden realization dawned on Sarah:  _ I am the Alpha and the Omega.  _ Revelation 21:6.

“How the hell…!?” Lyons screamed into the intercom, but Sarah set her hand on her shoulder.

“I know how to start the purifier.”

Lyons’ face fell. “Sarah… You don’t have to…”

“I might be the only one who can.”

“Why haven't you started the purifier? Please, do it now!” the intercom shouted at them. Lyons’ face filled up with ire again.

“Doctor Li?” Lyons said. “The other Sarah is going to do it. She thinks she knows the code.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder.

“Fawkes?”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Fawkes, you need to take care of Charon for me. Get him to Underworld. Give this to Carol.” She pulled his contract out of her breast pocket and pressed it into Fawkes' hands.

“If you insist.”

The intercom squawked again. “You only have about a minute left! Please hurry!”

Sarah stepped into the chamber, locking the doors behind her.

_ I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely. _

She typed the number into the control panel.

“Sarah!” Charon screamed.”No!” 

He had come back into the rotunda. He charged at the door to the chamber, pounding the butt of his gun against the glass.

Fawkes took him by the shoulders and tried to pull him back. “It’s her destiny, Charon. We cannot rob her of it.”

“Fuck that! Get off of me!”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She hit enter and the radiation hit her, the Geiger counter on her PipBoy shrieking. Everything swirled around her and the floor rushed up to her.

She watched Charon banging his hands on the glass, could hear him screaming her name. His face was stricken, betraying more emotion than she had ever seen on him.

She had been in Charon’s place only four months ago, breaking her fingers and losing her voice trying to get to her father as Charon dragged her away.

Her father. All he had ever wanted was for her to be safe, and she had willingly laid down her life for his work. 

Neither of her parents would have wanted her to do this, no matter how much they wanted Project Purity to work. 

It was a cruel irony, really, but it was poetic and it did give her death meaning. Not many people got that. Death was indiscriminate and, in Sarah’s experience, usually meaningless.

Charon had sunk to his knees, his forehead pressed to the glass. 

Sarah reached for him. She wanted to let him know she didn’t want to leave him, or to hurt him, and she knew she didn’t  _ have _ to do this and the fact that it was her choice was probably what hurt him the most.

She tried to say something to the effect, but her voice had dissolved.

She mouthed the words, “I’m sorry. I love you.”

Charon closed his eyes, unable to watch any longer. “I love you, too,” he forced out, his voice breaking on each word.

The last thing Sarah felt before slipping into unconsciousness was the shock at his admission.


	2. Miles to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah acquires Charon's contract and they make their way to Rivet City

“You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal? So, I am no longer in his service. That is good to know. Please, wait here. I must take care of something.”

Sarah watched him approach his former employer.

“Charon, come to say goodbye?”

Charon leveled his shotgun and blasted Ahzrukhal in the head. The other Ghoul’s skull exploded and the force of the blast launched him back against the bar before his now headless corpse collapsed to the ground.

Sarah jumped.

Charon took another step towards him and shot him again in the chest.

“What the fuck was that?” Sarah tried not to shout. She didn’t begrudge or blame Charon for killing Ahzrukhal. She had considered it herself, especially when he had suggested she murder Greta. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it, but being enslaved by him may have swayed her to actually kill the man.

Charon’s actions had, however, caught her completely off guard and thrown into question the wisdom of holding his apparently accursed contract.

“Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded. But now you are my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat. And now, for good or ill, I serve you.”

“Alright. But... why did you shoot him a second time? He was obviously dead.”

Charon shrugged.

“Is that going to happen to me if I no longer hold your contract?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“I had intended to just hand it over to you, but I’m a little worried about doing that now.”

“You can’t do that anyway. I’m forbidden from holding my own contract.”

Sarah furrowed her eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

“I just am.”

She sighed. “Great. Well, I’ve just become the world’s biggest hypocrite.”

“How so?”

“I’ve been trying to free every slave I meet because I find it abhorrent, and now I own one.”

“I belong to no one. If you are my new employer, then I will serve you. But I am nobody’s slave.”

She stared at him with a mixture of surprise and pity. He hated it. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. He stared back at her, refusing to be the first to look away.

She relented after only a moment, clearly letting him win. He didn’t like that either.

“Fine.” She exhaled a sigh through her nose. “My name is Sarah, by the way. I have a room at Carol’s Place for the night, but I’m heading to Rivet City tomorrow morning. Would you care to join me?”

“Am I to join you or aren’t I?”

“What do you want to do?”

“That’s… irrelevant. I will do as you command.”

Sarah grimaced. “I’ve never been good at following orders, I’m not sure I’m cut out for giving them either. But I’ve been traveling alone so long… I’d like you to come with me to Rivet City.”

“Very well.”

She considered him for a long time. If she was waiting for him to say or do something else, he didn’t know what it was. Finally, she looked at her PipBoy and announced, “It’s 10:30. I’m going to go to bed. I assume you have a bed here?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Come over to Carol’s tomorrow morning at seven and we’ll have some breakfast and hit the road. Sweet dreams, Charon.”

 

At least she didn’t chatter at him.

She had carried on a pleasant conversation with Carol and Greta at breakfast; she tried to rope him into the conversation twice and then dropped it. They had stopped to talk to Tulip for a bit and to buy as many bullets and stimpaks as Sarah could afford. It wasn’t many after Sarah had dropped two grand on Charon’s contract. 

Sarah kissed Tulip on the lips when they said goodbye, which surprised him. He vaguely wondered if there was something between them, but then chastised himself for even thinking about it. It was none of his business what his employer did.

As they walked from the entrance of Underworld out to the door to the Wasteland, she started explaining why they were going to Rivet City: something about an escaped android or something.

“Just… stay close and, please, use your gun. Don’t try to fist fight any Super Mutants.”

He stared at her, doing his best to hide his shock. Did she think he would be that stupid? “Okay.”

“Alright. Let’s roll.”

He had been sure she would talk his ear off the whole way to Rivet City, but she had been mostly silent since then. Occasionally, she pointed out threats before he saw them. Maybe he was just rusty from a century of rotting in that god forsaken bar, but her perception was much sharper than his.

Sometimes she stopped walking, looking back and forth between the map on her PipBoy and their surroundings, before saying, “Yeah, this way,” or “Shit, no, this way I think,” and starting off again.

As they were about to leave a metro station, she stopped, checked her PipBoy, and said, “It’s about noon. You hungry?”

He shook his head. 

“I am. We’ve cleared the tunnels behind us, so nothing should be coming from that direction. Let’s stop here for a bit.”

They sat against the wall near the gates back out to the Wasteland. Sarah started a small fire in a cooking pot and roasted some radroach meat on skewers over the tiny flame. She opened a packet of potato chips and offered him some; he declined. 

“You sure? You must be hungry.” 

He was, but she had bought him breakfast that morning. All of his former employers had balked when they realized how much he could eat and most hadn’t been willing to spend the caps to keep him well fed. There was no point getting used to three squares a day just to have to get used to starvation rations again later.

She handed him a Nuka Cola. He tried to refuse that, too, but she said, “Come on, man, we’ve been walking for hours,” and he relented.

She sat leaning back against her pack, legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, nibbling on her roach meat and reading a book in the light streaming in through the wire mesh doors. An honest to god  _ book _ . Charon hadn’t seen a readable book in centuries.

“Do you want this?” she offered the last skewer of meat to him.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want it.”

He reluctantly took the skewer from her. She started cleaning up and packing up her things.

“Ready?”

He nodded.

As soon as she opened the gates, she swore.

“Fuck me. You assholes again.”

Charon pulled out his shotgun.

There were four Talon Company mercs shooting at the them from the ledge above the stairs.

Sarah started up the stairs. She took down one mercenary with three well-placed shots from her assault rifle. She switched to a submachine gun and focused fire on a second merc.

Charon shot one of them in the chest. The merc shot back with some sort of energy weapon.

Shit that hurt.

Another energy burn lit across the back of his neck. He winced, but kept his gaze on the first merc he had targeted. He shot the merc again and again. He felt several more energy burns hit his back and chest.

“You guys just don’t fucking quit, do you?” Sarah shouted, turning her fire on the merc shooting Charon in the back.

He finally took down the merc in front of him. He turned to Sarah. She didn’t need help finishing off the final mercenary, but Charon shot the man in the chest anyway.

“Good work. Go team.” Sarah’s face was burned on one side. There was blood oozing down her neck, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Let’s strip these mofos of their weapons and armor,” she said. “They don’t need it anymore.”

He ended up carrying all the armor. 

“We should fix up our armor when we find somewhere to hunker down for the night,” she said.

He nodded.

“You don’t say much.”

“Do you wish me to talk more?”

“Do whatever you want. It was just an observation. Are you hurt?”

“Not badly.”

“So yes? Do you want me to take a look now? Or wait until we find out where we’re sleeping tonight?”

“I… you don’t need to look…” He trailed off.

“I  _ am _ a doctor.”

He stared at her. She didn’t seem old enough to be a doctor. She was too proficient at dispensing death to be a doctor. He hadn’t had any medical attention in over a hundred years. He didn’t need it now.

“I didn’t  _ quite  _ finish my training before I left the Vault, but… I am a doctor.”

“I don’t need my wounds looked at.”

“Hmm. Later then.” She looked at the map on her PipBoy. “Let’s get going.”

 

They emptied out a Raider camp even more efficiently than they had taken out those Talon Company assholes.

Sarah was calling this the best decision she had ever made. Having a companion was, so far, top notch. He was carrying all the stuff they had scavenged after she hit capacity. Having a second person on her side was excellent when trying to take out groups larger than two. Charon wasn’t a great conversationalist, but they maintained what might be called companionable silence.

Sarah looked around the little outpost.

“There are beds here.”

Charon didn’t respond.

She checked her PipBoy. “It’s almost six. How about we spend the night here?”

He nodded. “As you wish.”

She snickered. 

“What?” he asked warily.

“Nothing. It’s a line from an old movie.”

His brows furrowed together. “Alright.”

“Can I take a look at your wounds now?”

“I’m fine. You should look after your own injuries first.” 

She still had blood crusted on her neck and had some new slash marks on her arms from their skirmish with the Raiders.

“If I look after my injuries first,  _ then  _ will you let me tend to yours?”

He hesitated, but then nodded.

“Could you get a fire started?”

He nodded.

Sarah stripped down to her underwear. She used a clean-ish tee shirt from her pack and a bottle of irradiated water to clean the blood from her skin and get any debris out of the burns on her face and the cuts on her arms. 

She doused the shirt in vodka and repeated the same motions, disinfecting the wounds the best she could, cursing under her breath as she went. She finished up by administering a stimpak to her left arm.

She hung the damp tee shirt over the back of a chair to dry. She was shivering violently by this point; as soon as the sun had gone down, the air chilled, reminding her it wasn’t summer yet. 

Sarah found a pair of flannel pants, a sweatshirt, and a pair of woolly socks in her pack and put them on. After a another minute of shivering, she warmed up again. 

Charon had a fire going in a metal container. Sarah poured the rest of the bottle of irradiated water and some of the vodka in a coffee pot she had found in the outpost and set it by the fire to warm up.

“I’m going to put dinner on first, if that’s okay. We can eat and go to sleep as soon as I finish up with you.”

“I don’t intend to sleep tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Sarah busied herself setting a pot of mole rat meat and noodles over the fire to cook. “We’ll take it in turns then. Sleep cycles are about 90 minutes, so three hours at a time? I’ll sleep while you keep watch, then switch, then repeat. We can each get six hours sleep and still get out of here by eight o’clock tomorrow.”

“I don’t need to sleep. I’m accustomed to going without.”

“That’s… Look, I know Ghoul and human physiology are different, but that can’t be healthy. Not getting enough sleep… eventually it puts too much stress on your heart. And it messes up your mental health because your mind needs downtime, too.”

“You can sleep for six hours while I keep watch. I will sleep three hours, if you insist, but I don’t need more than that.”

“I do insist.”

“As you command.”

Sarah didn’t like this. So far, she’d had to order Charon to sleep and to accept medical attention. She had a suspicion she would have to order him to eat dinner. 

Ahzrukhal had told her that Charon was the product of an old brainwashing experiment, but she clearly hadn’t understood the extent of it. Or was this Ahzrukhal’s doing?

It was concerning to say the least.

Sarah poured some of the warmed water/vodka into a bowl and found another clean-ish cloth in her pack.

“Get your armor off. Let me take a look at your wounds.”

He complied instantly, removing his armor almost frantically. Sarah realized her mistake: she had worded it as an order. She had gotten used to speaking in imperatives instead of requests so she would be taken seriously. She was going to have to be careful with him.

“Honey, that… I didn’t mean that as a command.”

He paused for a moment, then straightened up. “I’m confused. Am I to take off my armor or not?”

“I do want to have a look at your wounds, and you’ll need to get down to your underwear, but I didn’t mean to make it sound like an order.”

“But you do want me to take my armor off?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated again. “You wanted me to do something, you ordered me to do it, and I obeyed. I fail to see the problem.”

“I… There isn’t one, I guess? Other than… I say jump, and you say how high and on what trajectory, and I don’t really like having that kind of power over you.”

“Why did you purchase my contract then?”

She had had a really good reason. She’d been filled up with conviction, had sold nearly every weapon and piece of junk she had saved, as well as the ammo for the guns she didn’t use as much. She had gone back for him, still sure she was doing the right thing. She couldn’t for the life of her remember what that reason was, what rationale she had used to convince herself she must buy Charon’s contract.

Maybe it was because his situation reminded her of Gob, and she dearly loved Gob. She hadn’t been able to help Gob as much as she wanted to, so maybe she had thought this would make her feel better by proxy. 

Except Charon was nothing like Gob. They were both Ghouls, they were both male, and they had both lived in Underworld. End of list of similarities.

Not to mention: now she had two differently broken Ghouls she didn’t think she could help. Neither of them had anyone else who could or would help them, but she didn’t know if she could help them either, no matter how much she wanted to.

Charon was still waiting for her answer.

“I’m not sure why, but I think it was a good choice. Sit down.”

He sat immediately. Dogmeat hadn’t been so obedient.

“Where did you get hit the worst?”

He didn’t answer her.

“Charon? Where are you hurt?”

“Got some burns on my back. Back of my neck.”

“This is going to sting, but it’ll keep you from getting an infection.”

He nodded. He didn’t wince or make a peep while she swabbed out the burns on his back and neck. 

She spotted more burns on his chest which she proceeded to clean.

“Anywhere else?”

More silence.

“I’m going to give you a stimpak at the end of this, so you need to tell me anywhere you have an open wound, otherwise it’ll heal over and potentially seal in an infection.”

“You shouldn’t waste a stimpak on me.”

“I’m not wasting it it. I’m using it to heal you. You might want to get used to it. It’s an almost nightly routine for me. Check for wounds, clean them out, stimpak, then dinner.”

It took another few seconds of hesitation before he answered.

“I was shot during the fight with the Raiders. Twice in the left leg, once in the ribs.”

Sarah found the bullet holes, but in the fading evening light, she wouldn’t be able to get the bullets out. She flicked on her PipBoy light.

“Hmm. I’m going to give you some Med-X, if that’s okay. The one on your ribs was just a graze, but there are no exit wounds on your leg.”

“No Med-X.”

“Honey, I don’t have tweezers. I’m going to use a scalpel to get them out. You probably want the Med-X.”

“I don’t want it.”

She was inclined to disagree. She didn’t want to hurt him any more than she had to. She wanted him to know he was allowed to say no to her, but she was fairly certain this was just another instance of him denying himself.

“Why don’t you want any Med-X?”

“I need to be alert to take the first watch.”

He was lying to her. He wasn’t good at it. But she allowed it.

“I probably can’t interest you in a swig of the antiseptic then either,” she joked.

“No thank you.”

Sarah winced on his behalf. “Do your best to hold still. I’ll try to get this done as quick as possible.”

 

Charon had retreated into himself as she dug the bullets out of his leg. He didn’t know how long it took her. He barely registered her voice as she talked to him, obviously trying to distract him from the pain, but both her voice and the pain seemed far away.

“Okay. All done. Bullets removed.”

As he came back to himself, the two bullet holes, now flayed further open and filled with vodka, throbbed and sent jolts of pain up his spine. He grimaced.

Sarah winced, too, sympathetically.

“Stimpak. It’ll hurt less as it heals up.” She flicked the needle and injected it into his thigh. He watched the gaping holes in his leg start shrinking in on themselves.

“Are you sure you don’t want something for the pain? It’ll probably take a few hours to fully heal and a few more for the ghost pain to subside. It’s doesn’t have to be Med-X. I’ve got ibuprofen or acetaminophen.”

He shook his head.

Sarah stared at him for a minute. He didn’t like the scrutiny in her gaze, like she could see straight to the quick of him. He didn’t like the things lurking there and he was sure she didn’t either.

She turned away, wiping her hands with the cloth she had used to clean his wounds.

“Get your clothes back on before you freeze to death.”

He got back into his armor.

“Here,” she said, holding a bowl out to him. He took it. 

It was hot, which felt good in his hands. The evening had brought a chill with it which had lodged itself under his skin while he was undressed.

Sarah handed him a spoon and started blowing on her soup.

He looked down at the bowl in his lap. It smelled good. 

“Charon. Come on. I don’t want to order you to eat dinner.”

He took a sip from the edge of the bowl. The broth was still scalding hot; he burnt his tongue.

He lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips and blew on it before eating it. It was delicious.

He didn’t want to eat it. He didn’t want to get used to this; he didn’t want to get soft and needy. But it was so good and he was so hungry. It was nice and warm and he was cold.

He ate with the spoon until the soup was cool enough to drink the rest.

He looked up at Sarah. She was still eating, but she was smiling at him.

“I take it you like it.”

He nodded.

“Do you want more? There’s plenty.”

He did, but he was going to make himself weak if he let himself indulge like this.

“Charon. I made enough for both of us. You’ve barely eaten since breakfast and we walked for ten hours. Have some more soup if you’re still hungry.”

It wasn’t a command. Not really. She had worded it as an if-then statement; a conditional command. Have some more soup  _ if _ you’re still hungry.

He was still hungry. He should obey. Normally, an unfulfilled order would worm its way up his spine until it lodged inside his mind. It would pound against the skull, overtaking his mind, threatening to blind and deafen him as it screamed louder and louder until he obeyed. That wasn’t happening now; he didn’t feel compelled to obey.

He ladled some more soup into his bowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from "Stopping By Woods on Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost
> 
> When I did "Big Trouble in Big Town", I gave Red and Shorty guns and yet they insisted on trying to punch the Super Mutants to death while we escaped.  
> They both died repeatedly.
> 
> I don't know if I'm doing well with Sarah's characterization.  
> She's the Lone Wanderer the way I play the character and therefore thinks the way I think as a 30 year old woman.


	3. Death As A Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> There are some homophobic slurs used in this chapter.
> 
> Sarah and Charon arrive at Rivet City, complete The Replicated Man, and find an unexpected lead on Sarah's father
> 
> Also, AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!

“Is that it?” Sarah gestured towards the horizon. A broken, grey battleship floated in the river. How it was still afloat in that condition was unfathomable.

As he stared, distracted by their destination, Charon heard a loud squelch and Sarah’s yelp and subsequent shout of, “Fuck!”

He whipped around to see what had happened: a centaur was slapping towards them across the pavement. Sarah was frantically wiping its radioactive spit from her face.

Charon pumped his shotgun and shot the centaur twice in the head and it slumped to the ground.

“Look alive,” Sarah whispered. “Where there’s a centaur, there’s sure to be Super Mutants.”

“Found you!” a Super Mutant screamed at them and came charging out from behind a metal wall just ahead of them.

Sarah swung her assault rifle off her back, took a deep breath, and fired five shots into the Super Mutant’s head. It staggered, but kept charging forward.

Charon stepped towards their assailant, still too far to shoot it with the shotgun.

“Fuck!” Sarah trotted up behind him, taking a few more shots into the Super Mutant’s chest. It staggered back before falling to the ground. Sarah took the nail board from his hands, stuffing it in her pack.

Two more Super Mutants came running out from behind the same metal wall.

“Oh shit!” Sarah ran backward away from them, still shooting.

One of them struck Charon with their Super Sledge, knocking him sideways. He fired, but missed. A second strike threw him to the ground. He shot the Super Mutant again in the face. It stepped back, its hand going to its face.

Charon scrambled to reload as the Super Mutant raised the Super Sledge again. A volley of bullets struck it in the side of the head, drawing its attention away. The Super Mutant turned and screamed, charging towards Sarah, who had taken a knee to steady her gun.

She hit it repeatedly in the head, but it was still running towards her.

Charon’s brain started screaming at him. _Protect the contract holder. Protect the contract holder. Protect PROTECT PROTECT!_

Charon struggled upright and shot the Mutant in the back, but it didn’t even seem to notice. He was knocked down again; another Super Mutant with a nail board had come up behind him. He watched as Sarah was knocked down by the Mutant with the Super Sledge; it jarred him almost as if he had been struck himself. She jammed her gun up under its chin and fired. The top of the Mutant’s head blew off, spattering Sarah with blood and brains.

She staggered to her feet and jammed a stimpak into her neck. She shook her head, as if trying to shake off the concussion, before reloading her gun and raising it towards the Mutant still attacking Charon.

Now that Sarah wasn’t in immediate danger, the screaming in Charon’s brain dissipated. He turned his own gun back to the Mutant standing over him and emptied the drum into its chest. It fell forward, pinning Charon to the ground.

Sarah trotted up to him while he was still pushing the dead Super Mutant off.

“Come on, big guy,” Sarah said, arms under his, hoisting him up. “You okay?”

He felt dizzy and the world was swimming in and out of focus. He stumbled a little, trying to find his balance. Before he realized what she was doing, Sarah had another stimpak out and has injecting it into his neck.

“That’ll fix a concussion in about ten minutes.”

“Stop that.”

“Sorry. Do you have some objection to stimpaks?”

“I… I would have healed on my own.”

“Yeah, eventually, but…” She trailed off.

She grabbed the nail board from the Mutant at her feet and went back to the one she had killed for its Super Sledge.

“Can you carry this?”

He nodded and strapped the weapon to his back.

They headed up the path towards Rivet City again. Just past the metal wall the other Mutants had been hiding behind, another Mutant screamed, “I’ll kill you!” and started taking shots at them with a hunting rifle.

Sarah’s shot hit it in the face; Charon’s in the chest. It toppled over backwards off of the catwalk it was standing on.

Sarah started walking towards where it had fallen. He wanted her to stop doing that. Her insistence on collecting the weapons off of everyone she killed was going to get _her_ killed. They could easily be walking into a nest of more Mutants. They had killed four already.

“Mistress. Be careful.”

She waved him off. He sighed and followed her into the camp. She held her hand out behind her. He stopped.

She turned to look at him, held a finger to her lips, and crouched down. She fired a volley of bullets around the corner. A roar erupted and a Mutant came around the corner; Charon shot him twice in the head while Sarah reloaded and it went down.

“We make a good team,” she said.

They ventured further into the camp. Charon could hear crying. That wasn’t something he expected from Super Mutants.

Around another corner, they found the source of the crying: two smoothskins tied up, another Mutant standing over them.

Sarah let loose a stream of bullets. She went to reload her assault rifle, but found she was out of ammo.

“Balls,” she muttered.

Charon shot the Mutant while Sarah looked for a new weapon. She grabbed the hunting rifle she had taken off the last Mutant. Before she got a shot off, Charon had finished off the latest Mutant.

Sarah knelt by the captives, untying them carefully.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Oh my God! I thought we were dead! You saved us!”

“You’re safe now. Do you need help getting somewhere? Rivet City is just down the road.”

“No. No. I'm going to try to make it home... if it's still there. Here, take these supplies. It's all we have.”

“No, you'll need it more than I will.”

“Okay... if you say so. I can't thank you enough, stranger.”

The captives ran off, not even acknowledging Charon.

Sarah proceeded to ransack the now empty camp.

 

They arrived at Rivet City just as the sun was setting behind it.

“Please!” a weak voice called to them as they stomped up the metal stairs. “Please. Do you have any water? I’m so thirsty…”

Sarah dropped her pack and dug out a bottle.

“Here,” she said, handing it to the beggar. “Have this Purified Water.”

“You... are you serious? I can't offer anything in exchange, you know? I can just have it? For free?”

“I insist, my friend. It's the least I can do to help.”

“Water... precious water... thank you! You're a saint!”

“You’re welcome.” Sarah put her pack back on.

Charon watched the beggar greedily chugging the water with disgust. He wouldn’t have even acknowledged the man, much less actually given him water. Much less _purified_ water. He was starting to think his new employer might be an idiot.

“Do you know how we get on the ship?” Sarah asked.

The beggar gestured towards the edge of the platform. “The intercom.”

“Thank you.” Sarah hit the intercom button. It buzzed loudly.

“Hold it right there. State your business in Rivet City,” the intercom barked back at them.

“I’m looking for a man named Zimmer,” Sarah said.

“Zimmer? Yeah, he’s here. Been causing an awful lot of trouble on my boat. What’s your business with him?”

“I have something that belongs to him. I suspect he wants it back.”

“All right, all right. You can go on in. If I hear about any trouble, you're gonna wind up in the river. You get me?”

“Yeah, I get you.”

They waited as the bridge extended. Once across, the owner of the voice from the intercom put his hand on Sarah’s arm. Charon bristled, ready to fight.

“That Ghoul can’t come in here.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve got rules here, miss, and no Ghouls is one of them.”

“Bigots. He’s with me. Are you seriously suggesting he wait outside for me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“Who makes the rules here?”

“That would be the Council.”

“I’d like to speak to the Council, then.”

“I’m on the Council.”

“Well, that’s convenient. What’s the rationale for not allowing my bodyguard onto the ship?”

“He’s…”

“Other than ‘He’s a Ghoul’, because that’s bigoted and absurd.”

“You keep up this smart-ass attitude, and you're gonna wind up floating face-down in the river.”

“I can swim. And I’ve got all day.”

The guard looked at Charon and back at Sarah. “Fine. But if he causes trouble, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Fine. Pleasure doing business with you. Let’s go, Charon.”

The guard’s face betrayed a flash of anger before becoming completely stoic again.

Sarah led Charon through the door marked “Marketplace”. The shops all looked like they were getting ready to close up.

“The market is closing soon,” said another guard. “You’d better make it quick.”

“Sure thing.”

Sarah skipped down the stairs onto the marketplace floor, Charon trailing behind her. The guard eyed him, but didn’t say anything.

“Excuse me,” Sarah said to one of the settlers wandering the marketplace. “Is there a weapons shop around here?”

“Right there.” The settler pointed it out. “Flak N Shrapnel’s.”

“Great. Thank you.” Sarah jogged over to the market stall in question.

“It’s almost closing time. I’d get out of here if I was you,” said the shopkeeper.

“I just need to trade real quick.”

“You buying or selling?”

“Selling.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Sarah began unloading her pack: a laser rifle, a hunting rifle, and four nail boards.

“Charon, can I have that Super Sledge you’re carrying?”

He handed it over.

“Where did you get all these?” the shopkeep asked.

“Dead mercs and Super Mutants.”

He laughed. “I can give you 350 caps for all of it.”

“I’ll take it. Thank you, my good man, you’re a scholar and a gentleman. Do you know where we can get a drink or something to eat? Or rent a room?”

“For a drink, you’ll want the Muddy Rudder. Bottom deck. For a room, upper deck. The Weatherly Hotel. Vera Weatherly can do you for some food, too. ”

“Excellent. Thank you again. Have a good one.”

“You do the same.”

Sarah’s transformation was… strange. It didn’t surprise him so much as confuse him. She was so warm and bubbly in Underworld, he hadn’t thought she would be as capable in the field as she was. Her serious, strictly business demeanor of the past two days had instantly morphed back into the polite and friendly persona from before.

“We are back in business, Charon. Let’s get some chow, some rotgut, and then a good night’s sleep.”

“I don’t drink while I’m working.”

“You’re off the clock, babe. We’re inside a settlement with it’s own security. No Raiders or Super Mutants in here.”

“Ain’t supposed to be any shufflers in here either,” said a voice.

Charon turned to look, but couldn’t see who had said it.

“Get bent, asshole!” Sarah replied. “If you don’t drink, that’s fine. You can have whatever you want. But I’m having a stiff drink or two. Let’s go get a room, drop of our stuff, have some dinner, then hit the bar.”

“As you command.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a command so much as a statement of my plans for the evening. Do you want some dinner?”

He nodded.

“Alright. Up to the Weatherly Hotel then.”

 

The hotel’s proprietor had apologized profusely, but she only had one room left to rent at the moment. Sarah turned to Charon, “Is that okay, big guy?”

He nodded. He didn’t intend to sleep tonight anyway.

“That’ll do. 120 caps?”

Vera kept smiling but she was clearly uncomfortable: she didn’t want him here.

“Yes. Thank you,” she said. “Out in the hallway, turn left, first door on your left. That's your room.”

“Can we get some dinner as well?”

“Yes, of course! Tonight’s menu is squirrel stew and baked potatoes.”

“Sounds delicious. We’ll take two servings. We’re just going to go put our packs in the room.”

“Alright. I’ll get your food ready.”

Once in the hotel room, Sarah dropped her pack and started removing her armor. Charon was still standing by the door, not moving.

“Charon,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to put your stuff down?”

He dropped his pack.

“Are you okay?”

“That woman… doesn’t want me here.”

“We’re paying customers. She can get over it.”

“Mistress. Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?” She kept changing her clothes - out of the dirty canvas pants and shirt she wore under her armor and into jeans, a tee shirt, and a hoodie - seemingly nonplussed by his presence.

“Why did you insist I be let in here?”

“What? You think I’d let them treat you like less than a person? Bullshit.”

“You said yourself: no Raiders or Super Mutants in here. You don’t need a bodyguard while you’re here.”

“I know that. It was a matter of principle. I hate the way most smoothskins treat Ghouls. It’s absolute racist bullshit. And you don’t deserve to be treated that way. And I won’t _let_ people treat you that way. You do your best to protect me from Raiders and ferals and Super Mutants and I’ll do my best to protect you from Raiders and Super Mutants and bigoted assholes.”

“That’s… not how this works. You’re not supposed to protect me.”

“Well, them’s the breaks, babe. I’m on your side. Are you going to take off your armor before we go to dinner?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “As a lazy tailor would say, suit yourself.”

 

Charon had followed Sarah down to the bar, despite her insistence that he didn’t have to come with her. He was leaning against the stairs, watching Sarah drink a beer.

“Well, if it isn’t the little Mutie killer.”

“Hello again, my good sir. I don’t believe I caught your name earlier.”

“I’m Flak. This is my partner, Shrapnel.”

“I’m Sarah. My associate here is Charon.”

Charon wasn’t sure he liked the way Sarah made fast friends with everyone she met. She was too trusting, especially in a world entirely peopled by bastard coated bastards with bastard filling. It was a good thing he had followed her to the bar. His job was to protect her, and however capable she was a dispatching Talon Company assholes and Super Mutants, her naiveté made her vulnerable.

Sarah had taken off her armor and left her weapons in their room. She made him leave his shotgun behind as well; he felt naked without it, and more anxious than he would ever admit. Worst of all, she let her guard down: she was relaxed, talking and drinking with these strangers who she had no reason to believe wouldn’t rob, rape, or kill her.

Sarah finished her beer. “Can I interest you and your partner in a round of drinks bought with the caps you just gave me?” she asked.

Flak laughed and threw back the drink already in his hand. “I wouldn’t say no.”

“Belle, you beautiful woman, another round for me and my new friends.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but poured whiskey for Flak and Shrapnel and handed Sarah another beer.

“Did you really get those weapons off of Super Mutants?” Flak asked.

“We did. Charon and I emptied out a little camp maybe a half a mile from here. How many were in there, Charon? Five? Six?”

“Six,” he said.

“Six Super Mutants. And they had two captives. I still can’t figure out why they take captives.”

“They eat them,” Shrapnel replied.

“That doesn’t explain why they keep them alive, though.”

“What’dja do with the captives?” asked another man from Sarah’s other side.

“We let them go.”

The other man scoffed.

“What were we supposed to do? Leave them tied up there?”

“You could have sold them.”

“Ew.”

“You got a problem?”

“Do _you_?”

“Leave her alone, Sister,” Flak warned.

The man called Sister bristled. “I’ve got better things to do than waste my time with fags and shuffler fuckers.”

At the word “fags”, Sarah, Flak, and Shrapnel were all on their feet.

“The fuck did you just say?” Sarah asked.

Sister took a step back from the three people in front of him and backed into Charon. He recoiled from Charon and backed in Shrapnel, who grabbed the back of the neck.

“You ever say that about us again, they won’t recognize your body,” Shrapnel growled in his ear. “Get lost.”

He shoved Sister away. Sister staggered back and then turned and bolted from the bar.

“What a bag of dicks,” Sarah said.

“You can say that again,” Flak said, returning to his drink. He downed the rest of it before asking, “Are you going to ask us if we’re actually fags?”

“No. I don’t care. I mean… I don’t mean I don’t _care_ , just… whether you’re gay or not, you shouldn’t be called slurs. And I’ve had the word dyke hurled at me enough times to take exception to that kind of shit.”

“I think I like you, kid.”

“Thanks. I like me, too.”

Both Flak and Shrapnel laughed at that.

“You need another drink?” Flak asked.

“I wouldn’t say no. Fellas, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

 

Sarah was pleasantly drunk when they headed back to their room.

“I like it here,” she said to Charon, louder than she had intended.

He, as always, had no input.

Sarah fumbled with their room key, but eventually got the door open. She flopped face first into the bed as soon as they got into their room.

“This bed is even nicer than the one I have at home.”

Charon had apparently retrieved his shotgun just as quickly as she had fallen into bed. He had it strapped to his back again and was leaning against the wall, watching the door.

“Do you plan to stay like that all night?”

“Yes.”

“Dude, I was kidding. Come on. It’s almost midnight. Sleepy time.”

He rolled his eyes at her. She found it very amusing, for some reason.

“Seriously though. You need to sleep. You don’t need to keep watch. We’re behind a locked metal door with security guards patrolling the halls.”

“Locks can be picked.”

She got out of bed. She took the chair from the desk and jammed it under the doorknob.

“Ta da! Come on. Bedtime.” She flopped back into the bed.

She laid there for just a moment. She started to feel sleep pulling at her. She thought to herself that she should get up to change into pajamas and brush her teeth before she passed out, fully dressed and taking up the whole bed.

Yet she found herself blinking the sleep out of her eyes and wiping drool off her face the next morning. Charon was still standing against the wall with his arms cross over his chest.

Sarah checked her PipBoy: it was eight in the morning.

“Did you get any sleep?”

Charon shook his head. A flash of guilt came over her. She had meant to convince him to sleep. She was sure he had faked it the night before when they were in the raider camp, meaning he hadn’t slept since they left Underworld two days ago.

“Geez, babe. You must be dead on your feet.”

He grunted.

“I don’t understand you, babe. Are you hungry?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Breakfast. Coffee if they have it. Then we need to find Zimmer.”

They ran into the guard from the bridge on their way out of their hotel room.

“Hey!” Sarah said. “Good morning.”

“Is there a problem?” he said.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I won’t apologize for insisting my friend be treated like anyone else, but I didn’t need to be rude to you. Especially not after you bent the rules and let us in. I’m sorry I was so uncivil.”

The guard looked shocked for a second, then his face softened. “Apology accepted. My name is Harkness. I’m head of security here.”

“Sarah. My friend is Charon.”

“You find Zimmer?”

“Not yet. We were just going to have some breakfast and then go looking for him.”

“Gary’s Galley down in the marketplace has a better selection than the hotel. You’ll find Zimmer in the science lab at midship. He’s been harassing Doctor Li and her team since he got here.”

“Thanks.”

“Good luck, Sarah.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He smiled at being called “sir”.

 _He has a handsome face when he smiles,_ Sarah thought. She filed that thought away for later; she had a job to do.

 

They found Zimmer in the lab.

“You there!” he called to Sarah when he spotted her. “What are you, some kind of lab assistant? No, you look a bit more... weathered. Are you by any chance... for hire?”

“That depends. What exactly are we talking about, here?” She decided to play coy; she knew exactly what he wanted. Victoria had given her a Neuro-Servo to make him believe the android in question was dead, but she wanted to know more about this ‘droid. Victoria had been exceedingly tight-lipped about him.

“To the point. I like that. Well, as it turns out, I've misplaced some very sensitive ‘property’.”

“Missing property? What kind of property?” She didn’t like the way he referred to a sentient being a property; siding with Victoria had been the right choice.

“Hmmm... how do I put this in a way you'll understand?” She blinked in surprise; no one had ever spoken to her in quite that tone, like she was stupid. “All you know of robots are those buckets of bolts those Mr. Handshakers and whatnot. Well... that's not ALL a robot can be. You see, in the Commonwealth, we've made artificial persons. Synthetic humanoids! Programmed to think and feel and do whatever we need. And... occasionally they get confused and wander off.”

“I know what an android is,” she sniped. “This android? He was humanoid? Like he could pass for human?”

“Well, yes.”

“I found this on a broken ‘droid a few months back. It seemed… unique and I didn’t know quite what to do with it.” She handed him the servo.

“What? Let me see that! This is a Neuro-Servo... Unique to the A3-21... I... And you say you got this from his corpse? I suppose there's no other way you could have obtained it. Well... damn it. I was afraid this would happen, out here in this, this... Wasteland. Well. Here's 50 caps for your troubles. Try to buy yourself an education out here in this hell. Good day.”

“I’m a doctor, actually,” she said, more than a little annoyed now. He didn’t seem to hear her.

“My god. I... It's you. My heavens, you look so much like him…”

Sarah turned. A woman in a lab coat was staring at her in disbelief.

“Do I… do I know you?” Sarah asked.

“You're James' daughter, aren't you? What are you doing here?”

“I… I had some business with Zimmer. You know my father?”

“Well yes, of course I do. Don't you know who I am? I suppose James never told you. Typical. I am Doctor Madison Li. I worked with your father many years ago. Your mother as well, in fact.”

Sarah was starting to feel a little dizzy. “You knew my mother?”

“Yes, I did. I'm sorry that you never had time with her. She was... She was a good woman. We didn't always agree, but I respected her work as a scientist. Your father... He loved her very much. And your voice… You sound _just_ like Catherine.”

“What was she like?”

“Your mother was, well she was a good woman. A very dedicated scientist. Your father loved her very much. It was a shame that she died. She had been excited to meet you.”

Sarah stared at the floor. She didn’t know what to do with this information. Her father had always been reluctant to talk about her mother and she assumed everyone else in the Vault had been as well because he had asked them to keep quiet. That is, until she got to Megaton and spoke to Colin Moriarty for the first time.

“You'll have to forgive me. This has all been very stressful, what with your father suddenly showing up here after being gone for so long.”

Sarah’s head snapped up. “My father was here?”

“He was here, yes. It was quite a shock to see him after so many years. I’m afraid he’s gone now.”

“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“Yes, I do. I told him repeatedly that it's too late, that the project is too far gone to be revived. He insisted he can just pick up where we left off 20 years ago, and said he could prove it to me. So he headed off to the old lab. I advised against it, but he went anyway.”

“Where’s this old lab?”

“It's in the old Jefferson Memorial building, northwest of here. It's not a safe place, and I wouldn't recommend going alone. As I said, I told your father not to go.”

“I’m not alone,” Sarah said. She pointed to Charon, who was standing on the catwalk leading out to the upper deck.

Doctor Li seemed to notice Charon for the first time. She jumped, placing a hand to her heart. “Oh! My goodness! He’s… with you, I take it?”

“He’s my bodyguard.”

“How… Who let you on the ship?”

“Harkness.”

Doctor Li bristled. “I’ll have a word with him at the next Council meeting.”

“Thank you for the information on my father, but I have to insist you treat my bodyguard with respect.”

Her eyes hardened. “Yes. You’re very much like James.”

“And proud of it.”

“If that’s all, I’m very busy.”

“Yes. I should be going now. Thank you, Doctor Li.”

Doctor Li hesitated before saying, “Take care of yourself, Sarah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from "Every Morning" by Mary Oliver


	4. Mumbles in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> There are some fairly graphic descriptions of torture and past abuse in this chapter.
> 
> Abandonment issues
> 
> Suicidal thoughts
> 
> Mention of animal death/dead pets
> 
> That's a lot of trigger warnings for one chapter.
> 
> Hey, guys, thanks for reading. I had meant to post a new chapter every week, but... Anyway, here's this.

“I had planned on finishing up some other business first, but I think this lead is too good to let it go cold.”

Charon was following Sarah back down to the marketplace. She set about selling her chems to get more stimpaks.

They traded the remaining Talon Company laser rifles for more ammo.

Flak seemed to find Sarah hilarious, and she was eagerly trying to prove him right.

“Honestly, it’s getting to the point where I see Talon Company and I’m like, ‘Oh good! I need to mend my armor!’”

Charon wasn’t sure how she could be so cheerful. From what she had said, and from the way they were prepping, they were heading into a death trap.

Around noon, Sarah tried to get him to eat lunch. He refused. She tried to cajole him into eating, but he couldn’t.

As she carried on a conversation with the girl working at the cafe, Charon tried to remind himself that she had been perfectly capable in a fire fight on their way here. The way she acted in settlements was completely different than the way she acted out in the wastes. He couldn’t understand it or reconcile those differences, but they were there. He didn’t need to be steeling himself to die in her service.

It was something he hadn’t done in a long time. Working for Ahzrukhal had never put him in danger of being killed. If he was honest with himself, he would have preferred it if it had; death would have been a reprieve from that evil bastard. He wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t still prefer death. It was what he was built for.

Sarah had words with the guard when they left, making sure they would be let back in; Harkness had let them in before and he was the boss. She threw his name around like she was his personal friend or something.

They walked to the Jefferson Memorial in silence. After emptying the Super Mutant camp the day before, there were no random assholes popping up to confront them. That was a small blessing, if they were walking into the death trap Charon thought they were.

 

Clearing the building had gone a lot better than Sarah had expected. Although she had to grab Charon several times, forcing him to take cover instead of charging recklessly into a Super Mutant’s personal space.

There were holotapes of her father’s journals in the rotunda. They delved deeper into the bowels of the building, looking for him. She hoped that his journals meant he was still here, too, sheltering in place somewhere more secure, but the building was empty. She found more journals, but not her father. Another dead end.

She tried not to cry, but the tears spilled from her eyes as they headed back out into the fading sunlight. She wiped her hand across her eyes, smudging her face with the grime and blood on her hands.

Sarah was intensely aware of Charon walking a few feet behind her. She had dragged him into danger, and for what? She was a little girl looking for her daddy, and she was never going to find him. Probably because he didn’t want to be found. He had specifically told her not to come after him, but what choice did she have? She had no one left but him.

Her mother was dead; her own fault. Jonas was dead. Amata had turned her away.

Her dog had died. That one was her own fault, too. What had she been thinking bringing him into the heart of DC?

Sarah hiccuped, choking back a sob. The tears were sliding steadily down her face now; she didn’t bother trying to hide them.

She had mostly cried herself out by time the got back to Rivet City. The guard at the door stopped them.

“He can’t come on board,” the guard said, gesturing to Charon.

“Harkness let him on board yesterday.”

“I’m not Harkness.”

“We’re paid up for tonight at the Weatherly Hotel. Your boss said we were allowed to be here. Let me on this god damned ship or so help me, I will make you eat your fucking helmet.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass. Let us on this boat.”

“They can come aboard, Stetson,” said Harkness, stepping out of the Marketplace door.

The guard called Stetson stepped back. Harkness laid a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “You know, I’m starting to doubt that apology from earlier.”

Sarah couldn’t look him in the eye. She didn’t have the energy to be polite or social. “I meant it when I said it,” she mumbled. After a long pause, she added, “I’ll probably be sorry again tomorrow.”

Harkness squeezed her shoulder. “You look like shit,” he said gently.

“Thank you.”

He let her go.

In their hotel room, Sarah stripped off her armor and listened to the holotape journals. She had hoped she was done crying, but her father saying she “didn’t need her daddy anymore” sent her into another bout of tears.

Charon was watching her, stone-faced, from the position he had stood in the night before, against the wall, arms crossed.

By time she got to the end of the journals, and Dad saying he was heading to Vault 112, she was hugging herself around her ribs, rocking back and forth, struggling to breathe.

This was another dead end. She knew by time she got to Vault 112, he’d already be long gone.

He had left her in 101, knowing he was one of three people who genuinely gave a shit about her. He might not know she was looking for him, but he was still running away from her. He didn’t want her back. He didn’t want to be found.

She had one more holotape, labelled “Better Days”. She couldn’t bring herself to listen to that one just yet. She couldn’t take any more of this.

Charon was still watching her, unfazed.

She got up and went into the en suite bathroom, closing the door to keep him out. She didn’t think he would follow her into the bathroom, but he tended to trail after her like a dog.

She missed Dogmeat. He would have followed her into the bathroom, but he also wouldn’t leave her alone when she cried. He would whine and lick her tears until she was crying from how much she loved that damn dog. She would bury her face and hands in his fur, knowing full well it would be stuck to the tear tracks on her face afterwards. 

Sarah turned on the shower. She stood under the hot water as it washed away her snot and tears. She felt drained, exhausted. She was getting a headache from crying.

She got out of the shower and realized she only had her dirty armor to put back on. She cracked the door.

“Charon? Will you go next door and get us some dinner?”

“Yes, mistress.”

After he left the room, she dragged her pack into the bathroom so she could get into pajamas. When she reemerged, Charon had brought back a tray of brahmin steak and vegetables in gravy.

“Thanks, babe,” Sarah said quietly.

She sat down and started cutting her meat. Charon had taken up his position against the wall again.

“Charon.” Sarah gestured to the food.

He looked at the plate for a second, then back at her, but didn’t move.

She was getting annoyed with this. She knew she shouldn’t be; it wasn’t his fault, but she was so tired. She was drained. She didn’t have the energy to coax him into eating dinner.

She didn’t want to get in the habit of giving him orders “for his own good”. That was a slippery slope to go down. But it also physically pained her to know he refused to eat or sleep.

She wanted to know why he did these things. Maybe she could figure out how to help him if she knew what made him behave this way. She was probably the only person who had the expertise to even try; she doubted any other wasteland doctors had training in psychology. Mental health didn’t seem to be a high priority out here.

That was another tireless slog, another ghost to chase, just like finding her father.

“Charon. Please eat.”

He appeared to hesitate.

“Charon. Eat.”

He looked at her like she had betrayed him. She felt terrible. Or at least she knew she would in the morning. Right now, she couldn’t feel anything other than tired.

After dinner, Sarah sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the remaining holotape, unable to decide if she should listen to it. She knew she would have to eventually, and it might not be anything that would upset her, but she couldn’t handle any more crying today.

She got up to brush her teeth. She took a few ibuprofen for the headache she knew she would have tomorrow, that she was already getting.

She got into bed. “Charon,” she said. “Come on. It’s bedtime. You can leave your shotgun right there. You can sleep between me and the door, if it makes you feel better. But you need to sleep.”

He stared at her for a little while before setting his shotgun next to the bed. The mattress sank under his weight as he sat down to get his boots off.

The tilt in the mattress rolled Sarah into him. He was much warmer than she would have expected. He had seemed warm when she was tending his wounds in the Raider camp, but she had chalked it up to her fingers being frozen in the night air.

Tulip also seemed to run warm, but not as warm as Charon.

When he stood up, the mattress sprung flat again, bouncing her back to the other side of the bed. He stripped off the top half of his armor, but left his leather pants on.

“You don’t have anything to wear as pajamas?”

“No.” He laid down on the bed over the blankets.

“Either get under the covers or get off of them.”

He got up again and let Sarah cocoon herself in the blankets before lying down again.

“Good night, Charon.”

If he responded, she didn’t hear him; she was already out.

 

Charon laid staring at the door for hours. He hadn’t gone to bed before four in the morning or been allowed more than three hours of sleep since before Ahzrukhal had bought his contract. If that hadn’t been enough to keep him from falling asleep, he was also sure someone was going to come through that door: either Sister coming to finish the fight from yesterday or the guard Sarah had bullied into letting him on the boat or someone else who didn’t like him being there.

Every half hour or so, another set of the heavy booted footsteps passed the door: another guard making rounds. The footsteps stopped outside their door. Charon reached for his shotgun. The steps moved on.

Sarah was oblivious to this; she had rolled around for maybe five minutes getting comfortable, then fallen asleep. She was motionless except for the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.

It had only taken two days for her to switch to giving orders. He was disappointed. He didn’t know why he had expected her to be any different. Maybe it was because she was so kind to everyone. She had seemed to realize how commands affected him. That first night in the Raider camp, she had actually said she didn’t want to order him to eat, but that’s what she had done tonight.

Part of him wanted to forgive her. She had cried for hours and she seemed so much younger than she had before. Watching her cry had hurt. Not the way unfulfilled orders hurt, but like something clenching in his chest. More uncomfortable than painful.

Part of him didn’t care. She knew he was compelled to obey; she had been choosing her words when she spoke to him so that she wasn’t giving him orders, but she had abandoned that tonight. If being tired or angry or sad was all it took for her to start giving orders, she was just as bad and just as dangerous as any of his other employers.

Another creak at the door. Someone was coming in. The lock and the chair jammed under the doorknob had done nothing. He reached for his gun again, but a multitude of hands held him down.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t scream to tell Sarah to wake up, to get out, to run. He tried to thrash, to move at all, somehow rouse Sarah from her unshakable sleep.

 _PROTECT THE CONTRACT HOLDER!_ his programming screamed at him.

The intruders had Sarah pinned as effectively as they had pinned him, her smaller size making it easier. One of them wrapped their fingers around her throat, squeezing the breathe from her. She still didn’t move.

The screaming in his mind overtook him, blinding him.

He was somewhere he didn’t recognize. He was in the same position: unable to move, held down by restraints instead of hands. Where was Sarah?

Unseen voices were speaking about him like he wasn’t there. A jolt of electricity shot through him, forcing an inhuman noise from his throat.

“Interesting,” said one of the voices.

They shocked him again.

He was back in the Ninth Circle. He tried to move, but he was too heavily drugged.

He watched as figures blocked out by the blinding light behind them, people who had paid to use and abuse him, removed his organs, examining them with indifferent scientific detachment. He tried to retreat into his mind, away from the agonizing pain, but couldn’t.

His intestines were hanging on metal hooks above him; he could see them continue to writhe outside of his body. He wanted to vomit.

“You didn’t think I’d give you up that easily, did you?” Ahzrukhal’s voice lilted over him.

He felt another surge of bile rise in his throat.

“No,” he whispered. “No. I killed you. You’re dead.”

“Is that any way to speak to your employer?”

Ahzrukhal pulled Charon’s contract from his pocket and waved it in his face.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever.” He smiled without his eyes. He placed a hand on Charon’s chest.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re fine.”

Ahzrukhal’s voice never sounded like that.

“You’re fine. You’re okay.”

Charon tried to thrash again, tried to overtake the drugs and the hands holding him down. He finally broke free, headbutting Ahzrukhal in the face, throwing him off.

“Fuck!” Sarah’s hand flew to her face as she toppled off the bed to the floor.

Charon scrambled away from her. He was back in the hotel room in Rivet City. The pain from his nightmare was gone, but it was replaced with the full-body blistering pain of having hurt the contract holder.

Charon was breathing hard, trying to reconcile what had happened in the dream with what had happened in reality. In the dim light, he could see Sarah’s nose was bleeding. He was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the door, which was still closed and locked. The chair was still jammed under the doorknob. He had dreamt the intruders.

Sarah picked her tee shirt off floor and held it to her nose. She kept the bed between them, watching him cautiously over the clothing covering the bottom half of her face.

“It was a dream,” she said softly. “You’re here now. You’re safe.” Her voice was muffled and more nasal than normal. “Do you know where you are?” she asked.

“Rivet City.” His own voice sounded hoarse, like he had been screaming. Had he?

“Is it okay for me to come over there?”

He hesitated. She was going to come over to punish him. He deserved it. The punishment would at least dull the throbbing white-hot pain of having hurt her.

He nodded.

She came around and crouched beside him. She was still holding the bloody tee shirt, but she didn’t have it pressed to her face anymore.

“Is it okay for me to touch you?”

He nodded. He waited for her to strike him, but she only rested her hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from the touch.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He recoiled harder. He had hurt his contract holder, caused her pain, made her bleed; she should be punishing him, not trying to comfort him. He didn’t want to be comforted, like he was a frightened, helpless child.

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that. It’s not okay. I hit you. I hurt you! It’s not okay!” His volume had increased with every word until he realized he was shouting.

“You didn’t mean to. You were having a nightmare.”

“It doesn’t matter! I hurt you. You need to punish me.”

“No.”

“I violated my contract. It hurts! You need to punish me.”

“What if I forgive you?”

He froze. He didn’t know.

“I forgive you, Charon. You didn’t hurt me on purpose. It’s not your fault.”

The blinding pain faded away. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Did that work?”

He nodded.

“You okay?”

He was not okay, but he didn’t want to tell her that he felt like shit, that he hadn’t been okay in a long time.

“You need anything?”

He shook his head.

She was looking at him again, the same penetrating look she had given him the night at the Raider camp. She could see he was damaged, that his mind was broken.

It had only taken three days for him to crack. He had wanted to keep it hidden from her longer, at least until he had proven his worth.

Sarah kissed his forehead before she stood and went into the en suite bathroom to wash the blood off her face. She pinched the bridge of her nose and said, “I don’t think it’s broken.”

He was intensely aware of where she had kissed him, as if her lips were still against his skin. He hated it. He didn't want her pity and he didn't want whatever patronizing bullshit this was either.

“My Dad used to sing to me when I had a nightmare,” Sarah said, as she got back into bed.

He glared at her. “No.”

“Do you want to come back to bed?”

“No.”

“Well, you can if you want to. You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lousy liar.”

Before he could think of a response, she had drifted off again.

 

Sarah woke the following morning to a mild headache and the smell of gun oil. She suspected the headache was equal parts crying hangover and having been punched in the face. The gun oil proved to be Charon sitting on the floor, cleaning every weapon they owned.

“Morning, big guy.”

“Morning.”

Sarah got out of bed and sat next to him. She watched as he methodically cleaned the parts of what looked like her favorite rifle.

“You want to talk about last night?”

He grunted, not breaking from what he was doing and not looking at her.

“We need to at least have a conversation about what’s actually in your contract.”

He paused for a moment, but then began reassembling her rifle as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I didn’t realize it caused you physical pain.”

Charon stiffened.

“I… don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t read this thing and I kind of need to know what it says.”

He grumbled.

“You can’t hit me or hurt me. That causes you pain.”

“Yes.”

“And me punishing you would make the pain stop?”

He nodded.

“Do other things in your contract hurt you?”

He was staring at the floor, no longer fiddling with the rifle. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, scraping his nails over the leather of his pant legs.

“Honey, come on. I don’t want to play twenty questions with you over this.”

“Everything.”

“‘Everything’?”

“That’s… how it works. If I don’t obey, it hurts. If you’re in danger, it… doesn’t hurt, but… it’s the only thing I can think about.”

Sarah inspected her fingernails, not wanting Charon to see her tearing up again. “That is some fucked up voodoo bullshit. Do you know verbatim what the contract says?”

“Not anymore. Why?”

“I just thought I could make a new copy of it. So I can… I don’t know. Do my best to not hurt you.”

Charon didn’t answer. He had closed his eyes and was breathing slowly in through his nose; he kept scraping his nails on his pant legs, making a light scratching noise.

Sarah recalled how she had ordered him to eat and sleep last night and, just like she knew she would, she felt terrible. The guilt made her queasy; she had ordered him to sleep, which had resulted in a nightmare, probably a flashback from his reaction to it.

“Charon?”

He looked up at her.

“I’m sorry, about last night. I shouldn’t have ordered you to eat and sleep. You’re not a child. I just… I want you to be okay. But what I want doesn’t… it doesn’t change the fact that I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me?”

He nodded.

“Sorry, that was… I meant, do you forgive me? That sounded like another order.”

“I forgive you,” he said.

Sarah felt a wave of relief, even though she still felt guilty. “Thanks, babe. I’ll do my best not to do it again. Does it hurt you to… object to orders?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“If I slip up and order you to do something you don’t want to do, can you try telling me?”

He nodded.

“Good. I’ll get this right, okay? Do you want to finish up with my rifle and then go get some breakfast?”

He nodded again.

"Good. I need like nine cups of coffee." She stood up and headed towards the bathroom.

"Mistress?"

"Yeah?"

He looked at the gun in his hands, stumbling over what he was trying to say.

"Are you... okay?"

She smiled. "No. But I'm better than I was last night. Coffee will help. Thanks, Charon."

He furrowed his brows and went back to reassembling her rifle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sarah has some abandonment issues. This comes as a surprise to no one.
> 
> I know Charon has a line in game where he says violence from the contract holder invalidates the contract, but I think there must have been some sort of loophole that previous contract holders (especially Ahzrukhal) got around and managed to hurt him.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Let America Be America Again" by Langston Hughes


	5. Darkness Visible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon and Sarah start heading home to Megaton.  
> The trip does not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> Criticism of democracy
> 
> Medical procedures, explained in detail
> 
> Because if you don't spend several hours researching how to perform local anesthesia for a fan fiction, what's even the point?  
> I'm not a medical professional; I'm a librarian. So if any medical professionals have opinions on how I described the procedures, I'm willing to take constructive criticism.

Sarah was still exhausted, but she was able to hide it behind a wall of cheerfulness. She slid her normal persona in place over her pain like a mask. No one had to know.

She needed a break. They could hang out at home while she built her energy stores back up.

She looked over the map on her PipBoy as she and Charon ate breakfast at Gary’s Galley.

“I think we can get back to Megaton faster if we cross the river here and head North. Going through the heart of DC is a shit show. But… there might be a Metro tunnel near here? The Metro is pretty quick and there aren’t any Super Mutants.”

“Mind if I join you?” Harkness asked, standing next to their table.

“By all means.”

Harkness grabbed a chair from another table and flipped it around, straddling it backwards.

“What happened yesterday?”

“We cleared out the old Jefferson Memorial. Lots of Super Mutants. Not a lot of loot.”

“Hmm. Any particular reason?”

Sarah leveled her gaze with his. He knew. Doctor Li must have talked to him.

“You already know why, don’t you?”

Harkness raised his eyebrows.

“You can tell Doctor Li I didn’t find my father. He’s already moved on.”

“You could tell her.”

“No thank you.”

Harkness looked down at his hands.

“She give you shit for letting Charon on the boat?” Sarah asked.

He huffed a laugh under his breath. “She tried.” He paused before saying, “You’re right, you know. It’s a garbage rule. But… democracy. Majority rules. If the majority supports bigotry, people think it’s fair.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“I never said it did.”

“You could change it. You’re on the… What was it? The board?”

“The Council. The others wouldn’t go for it. I know they wouldn’t.”

“You could try.”

“I’ve brought it up before. No dice.”

“I see.”

“So what are you going to do now, Sarah?”

“Go back to Megaton for a bit. Hang out at home. Figure out what I’m doing with my life.”

“Any interest in being a guard here?”

“Not really.”

“You’d be good at it. You’d be fair.”

She shrugged. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I’m a doctor. And I live in Megaton.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, my offer stands.”

 

Victoria was waiting in their hotel room when they returned. Charon lunged for his gun.

“Charon! Don’t!” Sarah said. He skittered to a halt.

Sarah cringed. “Sorry, babe. I know her. But how the fuck did you get in here?”

“I heard you got rid of Zimmer.”

“Yeah. I did what you told me.” She closed the door behind her and lowered her voice. “I gave him the servo. He left. You want to tell me more about the android now?”

“No,” she answered shortly. “You showed interest in helping other slaves before.”

Sarah nodded.

“Go down to the Capital Preservation Society. There’s someone there who could use your help.”

The exhaustion she had felt the night before washed over her again. It never fucking ended. But she still nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” Victoria stood and swept out of the room before Sarah realized she hadn’t offered any details, or bothered to even acknowledge Charon.

“Sorry, big guy,” she said. “I know I said I was going to get better about giving orders. I just… panicked.”

“I would have killed your friend. That order was justified.”

“‘Friend’ is a strong word for Victoria.”

Charon gave her a quizzical look, but didn’t say anything more.

“Let’s pack up our shit and go see about this new person Victoria thinks I can help. Then we’ll head home.”

 

Charon was getting bored. Sarah had said they were just going to stop at the museum for a minute before heading out. They had been there for nearly an hour. 

Sarah had talked to the old man running the place and agreed to “run an errand” for him. He expected it was going to be another impossible feat like clearing the Jefferson Memorial, but impossible seemed to be Sarah’s forte.

Sarah had sidled up next to a woman looking at one of the documents hanging on the wall. They all looked vaguely familiar, but Charon couldn’t place them. Sarah, however, seemed to recognize all of them. She said something about the particular document to the woman she had approached. The other woman jumped and stepped back, afraid of Sarah.

Charon stepped up behind Sarah in case the other woman attacked out of fear. The other woman shrank further away from them.

“It’s okay,” Sarah said, holding her hands out in a placating gesture, as if talking to an injured animal. “Victoria asked me to find you.”

“She did?”

Sarah nodded. “I’m not going to hurt you. What are you so scared of?”

She glanced between Charon and Sarah. “I suppose is doesn’t matter if I tell you. I used to be a slave. I saw a slaver on this ship. His name is Sister. I’m afraid he’s after me.”

“I knew there was something I didn’t like about him. Don’t worry. I would never turn in a runaway slave.”

“Really?! Oh! Thank you. Can you help me? I’ve been so worried about him. I can hardly sleep at night.”

Sarah stiffened. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Can… can you help me get a weapon? To defend myself?”

Sarah’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. How much do you need? I haven’t got a lot, but…” She counted some caps from her coin purse. “I’ve got 25 caps I can spare. Maybe if you tell Flak I’ll settle the difference next time I’m here? He likes me.”

“Thank you! I'll go to Flak and Shrapnel's just before closing. I don't have anything to give you, but I think I can trust you with a secret. If you ever go up north, there is a secret slave hideout called Temple of the Union. You might find them useful.”

“Useful?”

The runaway slave jumped at a noise from the hallway.

“What’s your name?” Sarah asked.

“Why?”

“If I show up at the Temple of the Union, will they trust me if I can’t say who sent me?”

“Oh. I… I guess you’re right. It’s Mei. Mei Wong.”

“I’m Sarah. My partner is Charon.”

Charon hoped his face didn’t betray his surprise. Her partner? She had called him her bodyguard and her associate; others had called him those before, or their employee. But her partner; being partners implied they were equals. He briefly wondered if she realized that, but he assumed she did. She had probably said it for Mei’s benefit, so there would be no way for Mei to interpret his employment as slavery.

Sarah was still talking to Mei. “Thank you for trusting me. I hope I can prove myself worthy of that trust. Good luck, Mei.”

“Thank you.”

Sarah put her hand on Mei’s shoulder before turning to go.

“You ready to roll, Charon?”

He nodded. 

“Alright. Let’s mosey.”

 

They ventured into the Metro station just North of Rivet City.

“I have no idea where this station lets out,” Sarah said. “You up for a little adventure?”

Charon nodded.

The Metro station was full of Raiders. There were over a dozen of them and they weren’t as easily dispatched as the ones in the camp they had cleared earlier in the week.

Charon had shot a man in the chest, toppling him backward off of the platform, when he suddenly felt as though he was going to faint, like he was losing blood at an alarming rate.

_ PROTECT! PROTECT! PROTECT! _

Charon spun around, searching for Sarah.

A woman had gotten Sarah in the shoulder with a knife. She was stumbling away from her assailant, her hand pressed against the blood pouring from just above her shoulder pad, trying to aim her gun one-handed.

Charon felt one of his knees crunch; another Raider had rushed up while he was distracted and taken a bat to him. He went down on his good knee and shot the Raider with the bat in the face. The Raider dropped his bat and fled.

Charon shot at the woman still going after Sarah, but he was too far away for his shotgun to do much damage. He tried to get to his feet.

Sarah was down on the ground, shooting at the woman above her. Her hands were shaking violently; her shots weren’t hitting their marks.

Charon took a step forward, his weight going down on his smashed knee. The pain was enough to almost blind him, but he took another hobbling step forward.

“Hey!” he shouted, his volume boosted by the agony of another step.

The woman with the knife turned to see Charon raising his shotgun towards her. She smiled and dove at Sarah again. 

Sarah planted one of her steel-toe boots in the woman’s stomach. Charon made it another step forward and shot her in the back.

She crumbled, her knife slashing the back of Sarah’s hand as she fell.

Charon hobbled the rest of the way to Sarah.

“Sarah,” he croaked.

“Charon!” Her voice came out breathy and an octave higher than normal. “Stimpaks?”

He nodded.

She gestured towards her pack. “They’re... “ She waved her hand near her shoulder, her other hand clamped down on her wound to try to stem the bleeding.

Charon rummaged through the pockets on her pack, trying to find the one he’d seen her take medical supplies out of.

Sarah’s head lolled to one side; the hand pressing down on her wound went limp.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” He finally found the stimpaks. He jabbed one into Sarah’s neck, next to the wound. He sat back against the wall next to her and pulled her flush against his side so he could try to slow the bleeding while the stimpak did its work. 

He couldn’t quite tell where the wound was underneath her armor and the amount of blood. He pressed a balled up piece of clothing from Sarah’s pack into the juncture between her neck and shoulder, where the blood seemed to be flowing from.

A gunshot startled him, the bullet hitting the wall several feet above his head.

He took Sarah’s rifle from her limp fingers and aimed it at the Raider coming towards them. He squeezed the trigger, firing a stream of bullets into the Raider’s head. His skull shattered and his legs buckled beneath him, sending him sprawling across the floor.

Sarah made a noise, somewhere between a moan and a muffled cry. Her eyelids fluttered open. She didn’t seem to be fully conscious.

“Mistress?” 

She looked at him like she didn’t recognize him. She leaned over away from him and vomited onto the floor.

He knew this was bad, but he couldn’t remember what it was or how to treat it.

“Charon?” she croaked.

“Yes, mistress?”

“Can you get me a cola out of my pack?”

He found a cold soda and handed to her. She raised it shakily to her lips.

“I’ll be okay,” she said.

He didn’t know if she was reassuring him or herself.

“How’d you make out?”

“Oh. Uh… my knee’s busted.”

“I’ll take a look at it when I’m sure I won’t faint again.”

He nodded.

“Shit. This was a fucking mess. I should have taken us home through Virginia.”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Charon. I got cocky. I could have gotten us both killed.”

“I was built to die in my master’s service.”

“That’s the most fucked up thing you’ve ever said to me. And you’ve said a selection of fucked up shit during our brief acquaintance.”

He didn’t know what she might be referring to, but he had a pointed feeling she was patronizing him again.

Sarah reached into her pack for another stimpak. She flicked the needle before plunging it into her neck, just behind her collarbone.

“Give me a few more minutes. I’ll be good as new.”

She sat with her head back and her eyes closed, sipping her Nuka cola.

“I’m going to go see if there’s somewhere a little more secure than right here for me to take a look at your knee.”

Charon started to brace himself to get up, but she gently pushed him back down.

“I’d like you to stay here. There’s no reason to mess up your knee wandering around. I’ll come get you when I find a good spot. We might have to hobble back to Rivet City.”

“It isn’t safe here. I should go with you.”

“Do you really think you’re in a condition for that?”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t like the way she was talking to him, but at least she hadn’t ordered him to stay put. “I should go with you.”

“Don’t… I mean, I don’t want you to make your knee any worse. As it is, knees are complicated and I might not be able to fix it properly. Especially not down here, on the fly. Please stay put.”

He sat still for a minute. He thought about trying to get up again, but the potential pain of disobeying combined with the guaranteed pain of his injury kept him seated. 

“Is that an order?” he asked.

Sarah sighed. “I’d say doctor’s orders, not employer’s orders, but I’m not sure how that would jive with you. Will you stay here please?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She took her rifle back from him.

He watched as Sarah crept back towards the subway platform. He felt queasy as she disappeared around the corner. 

He wasn’t sure how long she was gone; it might have only been a few minutes, but it felt like hours. He was getting more restless the longer he waited. He started to get up to go look for her, but the pain of putting weight on his knee forced him back to the floor.

Sarah came jogging back around the corner, her pack left behind somewhere.

“The Raider encampment will do for now. I went down into the tunnels for a minute to make sure there wasn’t anyone else down there and it looks clear. And the best news of all: this tunnel should take us right to the Mall. It can’t be more than a mile. If I can’t fix your knee here, I can go get Willow or Quinn or someone to help get you back to Underworld. Doctor Barrows will be better equipped if you need surgery before you’re stimpaked.”

“They won’t come for me.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

“I…” He shrugged and shook his head. He didn’t know  _ why, _ he just knew they wouldn’t.

“Come on, big guy. Let’s get you up. Which knee is it?”

“Left.”

Sarah squatted down at his left side and placed his arm over her shoulders. “Okay. Get your good leg underneath you. Don’t put any weight on the bad one. And we’ll stand up together on three. One. Two. Three.”

They lurched upright. He hadn’t expected Sarah to be able to support much of his weight, and she had obviously expected him to stand up quicker, causing them to stumble to Charon’s right. But once they were standing, they seemed steady.

They hobbled toward the Raider encampment like some sort of strange three-legged beast. Each step was a struggle. Charon was disgusted with himself; he hadn’t been able to protect Sarah and now he was relying on her to take care of him. She had said she’d almost gotten them both killed, which meant she knew he had been derelict in his duties.

She hadn’t punished him the night before, but…

“Are you going to punish me?”

“For what?” 

“You could have been killed. My main duty is to protect you.”

“We were overwhelmed in a firefight. That’s hardly your fault.”

“Mistress…”

“Is it hurting you? Not your knee, I mean. The… whatever… the contract?”

“Not currently.”

“Then you don’t need to worry about it. I’m not going to punish you.”

He didn’t like the way she went easy on him. Maybe she thought that was kindness, but it was just another thing she could lord over him. It was something else she could take away, like food or sleep.

He collapsed onto the dirty cot they finally managed to hobble up to.

“Can you get your pants off or is your knee too busted up to manage that?” Sarah slurred a little, seeming dazed.

“Are you going to faint again?”

“I don’t think so. I just… my blood pressure’s a little low.” She sank to her knees next to the cot and leaned her forehead against the bed frame. “Can you get your boots and pants off?”

Charon reached down to unlace his boots, but when he tried to bend his damaged knee, it screamed with pain. He grunted through the pain, trying to get his boot off despite the stars bursting behind his eyes.

“Charon.” She tried to push him back gently, but he resisted, tensing and staying upright. “You’re making it worse. Broken knees can quickly become open fractures. Let me…” She stopped. “Will you let me help you?”

He glared at her. 

“Please?” she added.

He didn’t want her help. He had barely wanted her help struggling to the cot.

Charon gritted his teeth and eventually managed to get his boots and pants off, although he was shaky and sweaty by time he had. He slumped back into the cot.

“Charon. Why did you do that?”

He glanced over at her.

“Do what?”

“Why did you insist on hurting yourself instead of letting me help you?”

He opened his mouth to answer but then snapped it shut again because he didn’t have an answer. He laid there, still sweating, as the silence grew longer and more awkward.

“Are you going to let me treat your injury?”

The tone she took was condescending and more than a little annoyed.

He chose to take the same tone back. “Do I have a choice?” he sniped.

“Of course you have a choice. Although if you choose not to be treated, I’m curious how you plan on us getting back to civilization.”

He snorted and gestured towards his knee, which was ballooning rapidly now that it wasn’t confined by his leathers.

“Go ahead then.”

“I can’t know how bad the fracture is without an X-ray, but I definitely think your patella is broken, based on the fact that you can’t bend it and the way it’s swelling up. We need to get you back to Rivet City.”

“Underworld.”

Sarah blinked at him for a few seconds. “Okay. Let’s get your knee bound up and get your pants and boots back on. Will you take some ibuprofen? It’ll help with the pain and the swelling.”

Charon grunted.

“Was that a yes?”

He nodded.

She offered him a few pills and some irradiated water. She wrapped his knee to compress it - he could feel something grinding inside the joint as she did - and then splinted it so it was bent a little but wouldn’t bend anymore.

She got his pants back to his knees and let him get them the rest of the way on while she laced up his boots.

He hated this. She attended his wounds so pragmatically, so businesslike. She was a doctor and he was a patient and she went about mending him like it was normal. He didn’t like being treated like he was broken, even though objectively he knew he was.

He lurched up so he was sitting up on the cot. Sarah went to get her pack.

“Hmm. I don’t think these are going to be tall enough for you.”

He looked over. How the hell she had fit crutches in her pack was a wonder of physics.

“Hmm….” She clucked her tongue a few times, looking around at the various debris in the encampment. She dug through her pack again and pulled out some scrap metal and attached it to the bottoms of the crutches with duct tape.

“Hopefully that’ll hold out until we get to Underworld. Here. Try these out.”

He took the crutches and got himself up on his feet. Or, foot as it were.

She had done a hell of a job eyeballing how tall the crutches needed to be for him. They were even and rested comfortably under his armpits. He took a few test steps.

“They feel okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, actually.”

“Alright. Onward to Underworld then.”

 

It took multiple hours for them to walk the mile to Underworld. Sarah needed to stop for a few minutes because she was getting winded. Charon had difficulty navigating the debris on crutches, and one of the them broke as he tried to hoist himself up onto the platform from the railbed, dropping him abruptly on his ass.

Doctor Barrows was not happy with either of them when they arrived in Underworld. Sarah had expected as much.

Charon’s knee swelled up larger than before once the compress was removed and had turned several shades of black, purple, and yellow visible even through the dark reds and pinks of his skin.

“Did you walk on a broken knee!? Are you  _ trying _ to cripple yourself!?”

Charon didn’t respond except to deepen his scowl.

“And you! Aren’t you a doctor? You  _ allowed _ that!?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “I tried to stop him, but there’s only so much I can do. Especially when the patient is dead set against my medical advice.”

Barrows scoffed.

“Also I was bleeding out for part of it. Nothing I could do.”

“God. The both of you. You’re lucky I like you. Nurse Graves, will you get me some Med-X? I’m going to have to operate. A Stimpak in this state would do more harm than good.”

Charon’s eyes went wide.

“He… he doesn’t like being given Med-X.”

“Oh no?” The question dripped with sarcasm. “That’s too god damn bad, isn’t it? I need to operate and I doubt he wants to be awake for that. I know I don’t want him awake for that.”

Sarah could see Charon’s breathing speeding up.

“Could we do a local anesthetic? Either a spinal block or a peripheral nerve block?”

Barrows steadied his gaze at her. “Do you know how to do that? I haven’t given local anesthesia in over a hundred years.”

“I can perform a spinal block easily if you have the right equipment. I have some bupivacaine I found in an old dental office we can use.”

Barrows stared at her for a second. His anger had dissipated once they started problem solving. Emotions sometimes ran high when treating serious injuries and trying to treat a resistant patient only exacerbated the frustration, but once a suitable path forward was found, professionalism returned.

“How long does bupivacaine last?”

“Between one and two hours. If we need more time, I can administer a second dose.”

“Nurse Graves. Are there still spinal needles in the supply cabinet?”

“I believe so.”

“Would you get two of them for me, please?”

“A 20 and a 25 gauge, if possible,” Sarah added.

She turned to Charon and gently laid her hand over his. “Are you okay with a local anesthetic?”

“How will it feel?”

“It should numb everything below the injection point, so everything from the waist down. The spinal injection will be a sharp pain and might include some burning or itching. Some people tolerate it better than others. You might have some vertigo or nausea during the anesthesia or as it wears off. And you might end up with a headache afterwards from having had your dura mater punctured. We can give you another painkiller for that afterwards if you want.” 

“But I’ll still be awake. I’ll be… lucid.”

“You should be. Some people get dizzy or drowsy from bupivacaine, but it won’t knock you out like Med-X or a general anesthesia.”

He still seemed unsure, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Excellent!” Barrows said. “Nurse Graves, will you please get him hooked up to an IV?”

Graves took Charon’s hand and started to swab his wrist. He pulled away like he had been burned.

“What’s the IV for?” he demanded.

“It’s just saline solution. To keep your blood pressure stable. We’ll also give you blood and antibiotics through the IV if you need it.”

“It’s okay, big guy. We’re not going to give you anything without your okay.”

Nurse Graves gave Sarah a searing look, like she shouldn’t have made that promise, but she didn’t say anything. She just went back to setting up Charon’s IV.

“I’m going to explain the spinal block procedure to you,” Sarah said. “If you don’t want to go through with this, we’ll come up with something else.”

He nodded.

“I’ll give you two injections of bupivacaine. The first one will be subcutaneous to make the spinal injection less painful. The second injection will be into your spine. I’m going to use two needles for the spinal injection. I’m going to do that because a smaller gauge needle might bend or break, but a larger needle doesn’t have the precision I need. I’ll use a larger gauge needle to pierce your skin and dura mater between the third and fourth lumbar vertebrae. Once the larger needle is in place, I’ll insert a smaller gauge needle through it and inject another dose of bupivacaine into your spine. Do you have any questions about the procedure?”

He shook his head, not looking at her.

“Are you still okay with doing this?”

He nodded, still not meeting her eye.

“Alright. Get your shirt off and sit on the edge of the table there. Have you ever had an allergic reaction to a painkiller?”

“No.”

“How about iodine?”

“No.”

Sarah was surprised the needles Nurse Graves brought her were still in their plastic wrapping.

“I told you,” Barrows said, “I haven’t done local anesthesia in over a hundred years. We ran out of appropriate narcotics before we ran out of needles.”

“Charon, will you hunch over for me? Round your back so I can feel your vertebrae.”

Sarah ran her fingers along Charon’s back, feeling the ridges of his spine. She swabbed the injection site with the iodine Nurse Graves had handed her.

“Okay. Sit up straight for me? Here’s the subcutaneous injection.” She slid the needle into his skin.

Sarah watched Doctor Barrows prepping his surgical trays over Charon’s shoulder. She guessed Charon was probably watching him, too.

“How you feeling, big guy?”

“Fine.”

“Are you nervous?”

“About what?”

“Medical procedures make some people nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t know whether or not to believe him. She hadn’t specifically asked if he consented to the surgery. She didn’t know if she needed to; he must know the reason he was getting anesthesia was for surgery and he had agreed to the anesthesia.

“Charon? You’re okay with having surgery, right? I’m not forcing you into it.”

“No. You’re not forcing me.”

“You can say no. I won’t let Barrows operate if you don’t want it.”

He scoffed. “And then what? Spend the rest of my life with a bum knee?”

“Just checking. Tell me how many times I tap on your back.”

She tapped twice just above where she had injected the bupivacaine.

“Twice.”

She tapped three times at the injection site. He didn’t respond.

“Okay. Hunch over again please. Ready? Here’s the first spinal needle.”

The needle punched into his skin easily, meeting resistance as it reached the dura mater. Charon grunted and flinched, his back straightening for an instant before he caught himself and hunched over again.

“You’re doing great,” she soothed. He let out a shaky breath.

“Here’s the second needle.” The second needle slid through the first, then pierced just a few millimeters further. She felt the resistance give way as the needle cleared the dura; she attached the syringe to the needle. “And the injection.” Sarah squeezed the plunger on the syringe.

Charon drew a sharp breath in through his nose.

“Does it burn?”

He didn’t answer her.

“Okay. The worst of it is over. I’m taking out the smaller needle.” 

A little spinal fluid leaked out as she withdrew the smaller needle.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m taking out the larger needle.” She pressed some clean gauze against the juncture between needle and flesh as she eased the needle back out and quickly adhered a bandage over the injection site.

“You did great, Charon,” she cooed.

He scowled at the floor.

“You can lay back down. It should only take a few minutes for the anesthetic to kick in. Tell me if you start to feel dizzy or nauseous.”

“Sarah,” Barrows called to her from behind a privacy divider. “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Be right back, big guy.” She stepped behind the divider. “What’s up, doc?”

“Are you certain he’s going to be cooperative using local anesthesia?” Barrows whispered.

“As cooperative as he gets.” She lowered her voice to his volume. “He’s not going to be combative, if that’s the question. He understands that he needs the surgery. He just… doesn’t like to be under general anesthesia.”

“Hmm.”

“Have you had problems with him being uncooperative before?”

“I’ve never treated him before.”

Sarah furrowed her brow. That didn’t make any sense. “I thought… I thought he lived here for over a hundred years.”

“He did. But I never saw him. Not as a patient.”

“Well… I’ve treated him since we’ve been together. He’s stubborn as a mule, but he’ll accept treatment.”

“If you’re sure. Are you going to assist with the surgery?”

“I think I should just observe. I didn’t do a lot of trauma orthopaedics in the Vault. And I’ll act as the anesthesiologist.”

“I was impressed with how well you did that spinal block, by the way.”

“Thank you. I’ve done a lot of them. The anesthesia will only last an hour or two. I’ve been given to understand Ghouls metabolize drugs faster than average?”

Barrows nodded.

“We’d better get to it then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is also the title of a Mumford & Sons song


	6. Broken Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon has a panic attack during his surgery  
> Tulip and Sarah discuss the moral implications of Sarah holding onto Charon's contract  
> Sarah struggles with grey morality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, nerd-migos!  
> This chapter was a long time coming.  
> Thanks for hanging in there and waiting.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> Panic attacks
> 
> Description of physical injuries and illnesses
> 
> Discussion of slavery
> 
> Psychological trauma

Charon wasn’t sure he liked the buvicaine or whatever it was Sarah had given him any more than he liked Med-X. The pain had quickly melted away, but he felt dizzy and sleepy; he closed his eyes. That helped with the dizziness, but he was afraid he’d drift off.

“You doing okay, big guy?” Sarah asked to his left.

He opened his eyes again. She was standing next to him, her eyes filled with… something. Pity? Concern?

“The anesthesia making you dizzy?”

He nodded, but that made his head swim. He closed his eyes again and swallowed down a wave of nausea.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Are you nauseous?”

“Yeah.”

Sarah set a bucket on his lap. She held out a glass of water with a straw. “Here.”

He took a sip.

“Can you try to wiggle your toes?”

He scowled.

“It’s to make sure the anesthetic has kicked in.”

He did as she asked and tried to move his feet. Nothing.

“We’re ready to go. Do you want a divider so you can’t see what Doc Barrows is doing?”

“No.”

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Her demeanor was different than it had been before. She had mostly maintained the professional façade while she explained the spinal block and administered the injections, which had hurt worse than being shot, but now she was standing next to him, speaking soothingly and offering him more water.

“Stop,” he said.

“What?”

He felt another wave of nausea and dry heaved over the bucket.

“The pity. Treating me like…” What had she said that morning? “Like a child.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think that’s what I was doing. I thought I was being… reassuring.”

Barrows poked at his knee. His finger sank into what should have been hard bone, but Charon only felt the ghost of pressure.

Barrows sighed. “I’m afraid that’s a comminuted fracture.”

Charon scowled.

“It’s in more than two pieces,” Sarah supplied.

“Well, we’re wasting daylight. Nurse. Scalpel.”

Charon watched Barrows slice open his knee and clamp the skin back from the bone. It didn’t hurt; it was vaguely uncomfortable, like that bit of him had fallen asleep and was coming back to life, but otherwise he couldn’t feel anything.

He felt another surge of nausea, gagged, and spit a mouthful of drool into the bucket in his lap.

He couldn’t help but equate his current situation with the last time he’d watched someone operate on him. Something in his subconscious was trying to get him to panic, like two halves of himself were warring with one another.

One side of his brain was screaming at him to do something, to fight back, that these people were hurting him and he needed to retreat into himself or get away. The other side of his brain was telling the panicked side to calm down: these people were _healing_ him. There was a difference between being experimented on and operated on.

The panicked side of his brain argued back: they had been one and the same before. Make this stop. Get away.

The rational side of his brain was losing. It seemed his rational brain was the one drugged to the gills, as the logical arguments got slower and more incomprehensible.

It would be worse if he went ape shit while having surgery. He’d be absolutely fucked and probably permanently crippled.

Barrows and Graves had tried to help him before. Ahzrukhal had never allowed it, had forbidden Charon from accepting help, but they had tried. They wouldn’t use him.

Doctor Barrows might. He did weird shit in the name of research. He _might_ experiment on Charon.

Charon retched into the bucket in his lap, his anxiety overwhelming him. There was nothing in his stomach to purge. All that came up was foamy yellow bile.

A hand on his forehead drew his attention away from his panic. Sarah’s hand was blessedly cool against his skin; he leaned into the touch, ashamed of the reaction even as he did it.

Sarah wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.

That thought took him by surprise. Maybe it was the drugs. It had to be the drugs. He didn’t know why he suddenly believed that, but he was sure it was true.

His rational brain latched onto that argument: Sarah won’t let anyone hurt you. It was a benign enough thought to keep his anxiety in check.

“You’re awfully warm.” Her hand moved from his forehead to his cheek. “I’m going to get you an ice pack.”

He grabbed her wrist as she turned to go. He knew the instant she was away from his side, his panic brain would win. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, to ask her not to leave him.

“What do you need?”

He still couldn’t answer. He almost wished she’d phrased it as an order. How hard would it have been to say _Tell me what you need_? He just tightened his grip.

She pried his fingers off her wrist, clasping his hand between both of hers.

“It’s okay. I’ll be back in a second.”

He stared at her back as she walked away, averting his eyes from where Barrows was still manipulating the broken fragments of his knee. He was starting to feel like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes flicked to his knee for a moment and his vision tunneled. All he could see was the damage to his knee. The bone and muscle and cartilage shouldn’t be exposed like that. They shouldn’t move like that. That was wrong. This was wrong.

Someone was hurting him. He had to make it stop. He flailed but he couldn’t move from the waist down. The bucket sitting in his lap dumped vomit onto his chest and then crashed to the floor.

“Charon! Charon. Look at me. Look at me.”

He tore his eyes away from horror inflicted on him.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He tried to look back down to his knee, but she put her hands on his face and turned him back to look at her.

“Nope. Look at me. Just me. Talk to me, Charon. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

 _What’s wrong? WHAT’S WRONG!?_ Couldn’t she see what was wrong? He was still struggling to breathe, his chest heaving, making the slimy wetness on his chest ooze down his stomach.

“Do you know where you are?”

He didn’t. He shook his head, and then regretted it as the room spun around him.

“You’re in Underworld. Do you remember hurting your knee?”

That sounded vaguely familiar. “Yes.”

“Okay. Okay. Tell me how it happened.” She turned to the nurse. “Can you put up a divider, please?” She turned back to Charon. “I’m going to clean you up, okay?”

“Okay.”

She cleaned the mess off of him, his abs twitching as she rubbed a cloth across his stomach.

“How’d you hurt your knee?”

He couldn’t remember. “I…”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“It’s okay. Here. Lean forward for me.”

He did. She rested a towel and then a cold pack across the back of his neck. “Okay. You can lean back.”

The cold broke through the dizziness and drowsiness from the anesthetic. He felt less like he was going to faint or puke again. He glanced back down at his knee, but there was a divider in the way now.

“You want some water?”

He nodded. It didn’t make him dizzy like it had before. She offered him the straw again and he drank what was left in the glass.

“Raiders,” he said. “A Raider hit me in the knee with a bat.”

Sarah nodded. “Good. Well, good that you remember.”

He slumped back against the cold pack. He closed his eyes. Sarah took his hand. He opened his eyes again, looking down at where her hand rested in his. He squeezed her hand and let himself drift off.

 

“That could have gone better,” Barrows said.

“Enh. It could have gone worse.”

“You said he wouldn’t be combative.”

“Yeah. I did. Turns out I shouldn’t have promised that.”

“No kidding.”

“I think he just reacted more strongly to the bupivacaine than we anticipated. He was disoriented and panicked. It’s understandable.”

“Yeah. That’s why we put people under general anesthesia for surgery.”

“Yeah… But, hey! The surgery was successful, even with the hiccups.”

“Hiccups we could have prevented.”

“You know, I don’t know if him waking up from a general anesthetic he didn’t want would be any better than the few moments of freaking out he had earlier.”

Barrows shrugged. “Fair enough. Now… the matter of payment.”

“I can’t pay you in caps.”

“I figured as much. How much did Ahzrukhal squeeze out of you for Charon?”

“Two grand. However, if you still want, how did you put it? ‘Fresh human samples’?”

Barrows grinned almost maniacally.

“I lost a lot of blood earlier today, so you can’t have a whole pint or anything.”

“I only need a couple vials. And… maybe some tissue samples.”

“I’m willing to let you have anything you can access with a needle biopsy.”

Barrows grinned wider.

“The way you’re smiling makes you look psychotic, just so you’re aware.”

“I’m absolutely _giddy_ at the prospect of new tissue samples to analyze.”

“That does not make you seem less crazy.”

 

“I know you wanted to set him free, but that’s not what happened,” Tulip said.

“I know,” Sarah said, drawing out the word “know” until it turned into groan.

“So why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. I tried to give him his contract as soon as I bought it, but… he says he can’t take it. And… God, it’s so fucked up. Ahzrukhal told me Charon had been brainwashed. That he’d be loyal to whoever held his contract. I should have asked him more about it. He can’t disobey me. If I tell him to do something, he does it. No questions. I keep having to stop myself and rephrase what I’m about to say to him so it’s a question and not an order. And it hurts him if he resists. Legitimately causes him physical pain to violate his contract.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“It’s so fucked up.”

“I never knew that’s what kept him here. I always, I thought he had the same slimy amorality as Ahzrukhal. That he must have been getting a cut of the profits or something.”

“I don’t know what to do, Tulip.” Sarah flopped back dramatically, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I can’t sell his contract. I would be profiting from slave trade. But if I keep his contract, I own a slave. Either way, I’m a slaver.”

“If you keep his contract, at least you know he’s not being abused.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all. Like, yeah, I own a slave, but at least I don’t hit him.”

“Well, if the thing keeping him a slave if the brainwashing, maybe you can brainwash him to not obey his contract anymore.”

Sarah sat up again. Pain shot through her biopsy sites. Barrows had taken blood and lymph nodes, as well as samples from her liver and her kidney, which had each left a tight ball of soreness on her right side.

“If he was brainwashed…” Sarah trailed off; the Med-X was making it hard to concentrate. “Brainwashing is just reconditioning the brain. If he was conditioned to believe disobedience causes pain, he’ll feel pain when he believes he’s being disobedient.”

“Really?”

“Psychosomatic sensations feel exactly like corporeal ones. The person experiencing them wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Holy shit.”

“Exactly. But… you’re right. His brain was conditioned to the terms of the contract. So theoretically that conditioning could be undone. It would take a lot of work though. Healing always takes more time and effort than hurting. Doubly so for psychological trauma.”

“Well, I believe in your determination.”

“Thank you, love. The person who really needs to believe is Charon.”

 

Charon woke up with a headache. He tried to sit up, but his headache intensified to screaming, pouding pain. Sarah had said he might have a headache when he came down from the anesthesia but he didn’t realize how bad it would be.

“Fuck,” he gasped, collapsing back into the bed.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Barrows said, louder and far more cheerful than Charon would have liked.

He grunted.

“Your surgery went well, despite your little episode there. I gave you a stimpak after we finished up, so your knee should be completely healed in a few hours. I can give you some oxycodone if you have a headache.”

“Yes, please.” He was vaguely surprised he said the word ‘please’ automatically. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about courtesy.

Barrows handed him a pill and a glass of water.

Charon swallowed the pill and chugged the water.

“Hey. Careful. Don’t make yourself vomit. We don’t have enough oxycodone for you to be puking it up.”

“Where’s Sarah?” He didn’t feel like he was going to lose it anymore, but now he had the niggling feeling in the back of his mind telling him to find her, to make sure she was safe.

“She went to Tulip’s to sleep off the Med-X.”

Charon furrowed his brow. He didn’t think Sarah was hurt enough to need Med-X.

Barrows must have sensed his confusion. “I took some tissue samples as payment for your surgery.”

Charon’s head snapped up and he glared at Barrows.

“Relax, would you? It was her idea.”

Charon opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. He didn’t know Sarah well enough to know whether or not that was something she would do. It must have been.

Not only had he failed to protect her, she had sold samples of her tissue to pay for his medical care. Because he was stupid and got distracted in a fight. Because he didn’t do his job.

He needed to find her. He had to check on her. He would do his goddamn job.

The pill Barrows had given him had dulled the headache, but now he felt drowsy again. His eyelids felt heavy, but he fought the desire to go back to sleep. He forced himself to sit up. His head pounded again. He got to his feet. The headache pain spiked and his knee twinged.

“Charon,” Barrows warned. “Why don’t you get back in bed?”

“I have to find Sarah.”

“I told you. She’s asleep at Tulip’s. She’s fine. Get back in bed.”

Charon took a few limping steps towards the door.

“Charon. It’s almost midnight. Let her sleep.”

“Fuck off.”

“Jesus, Charon.” Barrows sounded tired.

Maybe that was a little uncalled for, but he was committed now.

He hobbled out of the Chop Shop to Underworld Outfitters. His knee didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had before, but it was still sore and it had been bandaged and braced so he couldn’t bend it.

He knocked on Tulip’s door. She didn’t answer. He waited a few beats before knocking again.

Tulip looked furious when she yanked the door open, but then she saw him and her face softened to annoyance.

“Jesus, Charon, it’s almost midnight.”

“I need to see Sarah.” The need had become an insistent ache deep in his chest and was threatening to turn back into anxiety.

“She’s sleeping.”

“I… I need to see her.”

Tulip sighed. “Fine. Come on in.”

Charon followed Tulip into the store and around the divider that blocked her bedroom from public view. Sarah was asleep on her side wearing only a tank top and panties. Charon averted his eyes and realized he was also wearing only his boxers.

“Sarah,” Tulip singsonged to her, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Mmm.” Sarah stirred.

“Sarah.”

“Mmm.” She stretched and yawned. “Hey. Morning, beautiful.”

“It’s not morning yet.”

Sarah looked confused.

“Charon’s here to see you.”

The confusion turned to concern. She sat up quickly; she winced and put her hand to her side, barely breathing the word “Ow”.

“Charon? What’s wrong?”

“I… Nothing. I…”

Sarah started getting up. Tulip helped pull her to her feet.

“I…” Charon struggled to find the words he wanted to say. His head was still throbbing in time with his pulse and it was making it hard to think straight. “I just… I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Oh. I understand.”

He wondered if she actually did understand why he was here because he wasn’t really sure. He couldn’t explain why he needed to see her, other than the intense uncomfortable physical sensations telling him he had to.

Sarah pulled her jeans on.

“Can we go back to the Chop Shop?” she asked.

He considered it. He didn’t really want to go back. He wanted to stay with Sarah, but he supposed he couldn’t sleep here with Sarah and Tulip.

He nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Tulip.

They walked through the empty concourse, bare feet quietly slapping the floor.

Sarah pushed the door to the clinic open. Charon winced at the bright light.

“Oh, you’re still awake,” Sarah said.

“You found my patient.”

“I thought you would have gone to bed.”

“I usually stay here when I have an overnight patient.”

Charon felt uncomfortable. Sarah and Barrows would both rather be in bed, asleep, like normal people, except he was keeping them up. Because… why? Because he was needy? He _wasn’t_ needy. He shouldn’t need them. He _didn’t_ need them. He didn’t need things and he especially didn’t need help from other people.

Charon scowled.

“How’s your headache?”

Sarah elbowed him gently and he realized Barrows was talking to him.

“It’s fine.”

“You’re not a good liar, babe. Did you take something for the pain?”

He nodded.

“I gave him an oxycodone.”

“Lying down will help, too.”

He didn’t want to lie down. He had been lying down for most of the day, but he got back in the hospital bed anyway. Sarah was right: the pain eased after a minute or two on the pillows.

“It’s too bright in here,” he said.

Barrows turned on a lamp on his desk and flipped the overhead lights off. “Better?”

“Better.”

“Are you okay now? Is it okay for me to go back to Tulip’s?”

“Sarah?”

“Hmm?”

“You sold tissue samples… for me.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have the caps to pay for your surgery.”

“But…” He didn’t know how to express what he wanted to say. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be used like that, especially not for his sake; she shouldn’t have worried about him. She should have just let him rot instead of subjecting herself to the pain and humiliation of whatever Barrows had to do to her to get tissue samples from her. The fact that she had suffered for his sake made him uneasy.

“But nothing. Selling tissue might be a little iffy ethically speaking, but it’s fine. It’s not like it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“You’re in pain.”

“A little. I would have used a stimpak after the biopsies, but we’re running low and I don’t have the caps for more right now.”

He suddenly realized: the reason she didn’t have the caps was because she had spent them all on his contract. The uneasy feeling in his gut bloomed into full on shame and guilt.

“It’s not fine.”

“I won’t make a habit of it.” She kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She left him turning what had happened over and over in his mind. She had sold her tissue _for him._ She couldn’t take a stimpak because she didn’t have any caps _because of him_.

He slept fitfully for a few hours in the hospital bed. When he woke up, Charon somehow knew what he was going to do.

 

Sarah was still sore the next morning.

Maybe they should spend another day in Underworld before heading back to Megaton. Walking the fifteen miles between the two might have been okay in her current condition, but only if they weren’t Super Mutants and feral Ghouls to contend with.

Except she didn’t have the caps for Charon to spend the night at Carol’s Place and she didn’t think Barrows would let him stay in the Chop Shop for another night.

They should probably head home.

She was still laying in Tulip’s bed, reading a book, even though the store had opened. Tulip had brought her breakfast and coffee from Carol’s and they had sat side by side eating breakfast in bed. They talked for a little bit, and kissed, and then Tulip had to open the store.

“Good morning, Charon,” Tulip said, as his telltale bootfalls came into the store.

He grunted in response and came around the divider.

“Morning, big guy,” Sarah said, putting down her book. “How you feeling?”

He didn’t answer, but instead pulled a little fabric pouch out of his pocket and tossed it onto the mattress between her feet. Sarah recognized it: it was the coin purse she had given Ahzrukhal.

Her mouth fell open. She stared up at Charon.

“He doesn’t need it anymore.”

“I guess not,” she said, but she was still a little shocked. “I don’t know if I should take it though.”

Charon scoffed. “That’s what _he_ did when he bought my contract.”

“Hmm.” That made her even more reluctant to do the same. Besides, there were only so many morally grey things she could justify in a single day.

“Those are your caps. Ahzrukhal extorted them from you.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “He didn’t really,” she said. “He didn’t threaten or force me to buy your contract.”

“He took advantage of you.”

She supposed he had. He had insisted Charon wasn’t a slave (Charon insisted Charon wasn’t a slave), but he was.

Ahzrukhal knew Sarah wanted to free Charon, had known she couldn’t, and had set an exorbitant price for her to pay in order to try, in vain, to do so.

“Take the money, Sarah,” Tulip called from the other side of the divider.

“Take the money and run,” Sarah agreed quietly. She picked up the coin purse; it seemed heavier than it had when she gave it to Ahzrukhal.

Sarah threw the blankets off. Charon looked away from her. She got a stimpak out of her backpack and injected it into her hip. She knew she’d still have ghost pain for another few hours. She probably didn’t actually need the stimpak; it might have been ghost pain already, but this would speed the process along.

“Let me get dressed and then we can resupply and head home.”

“And I shall follow.”

Sarah paused. She looked over to where Tulip was sitting behind the counter; she was reading and pointedly not looking at Sarah and Charon, which Sarah took to mean she was definitely listening to their conversation.

“You know, Charon, you can stay here, if you want to. If this is your home.”

“Are you ordering me to stay behind?”

“No. I’m telling you that you have a choice.”

“I serve you. And my place is by your side.”

Sarah glanced back to Tulip. Her face was purposely blank.

“Okay,” Sarah said. “Let’s get ready to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the reason Sarah makes fast friends with everyone and why she feels comfortable touching Charon and calling him pet names and things like that is because she doesn't really understand the concept of "strangers".  
> She grew up in a Vault, which is like growing up in a small town times 10. (Or, divided by 10, I guess.)  
> There were no strangers in the Vault; everyone knew everyone else.  
> She never developed a set of social norms for how to act with people you just met because she had never just met anyone until she left the Vault.
> 
> Also, I realized Charon goes back and forth in his feelings towards Sarah and towards his contract. Like in one chapter he obeys instantly and asks her why that makes her uncomfortable (in different words) but then the next chapter, he's resentful that she ordered him to do something when she knew he was compelled to obey.  
> I considered editing the previous chapters to make Charon more consistent, but I think this type of inconsistency makes sense for him.  
> There are two sides of his brain that are fighting one another - the part that's actually Charon and the part that's the conditioning from his brainwashing - and it's hard to untangle the two.
> 
> Chapter title is from the song "broken" by lovelytheband.


End file.
